


Keep on Galloping

by talina



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Origin Story, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-02-23 23:36:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13200996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talina/pseuds/talina
Summary: Prowl emerged to a happy home and loving procreators; Highlight and Quickrun. He was a smart, affectionate little sparkling. But life never stays the same and there is no knowing what direction it will turn to.Prowl's is about to change for the worse.





	1. Welcome, little one

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Don't own transformers. Also, I got the idea for the terms progenitor, originator and procreator from Anon_E_Miss. Her fic, Before the Precipice is truly amazing and I recommend reading it.
> 
> The story is finished, just needs editing. I'll post it as I go.

A light flickered in a window of a Praxian housing. The housing was situated at a quiet neighborhood, close to one of the many crystal gardens Praxus was famous for. It was late into the fifth cycle, and most of the neighborhood was quiet. Only minimal light lit the quiet streets as most mechanisms had already entered their recharge cycles. The lone light was the last one lit in the housing, casting its soft glow in the single room, occupied by two mechs. The room wasn’t large or fancy, but had a calm and cozy feel to it. The light emanated from a low set lamp in one corner, a table standing next to it. Wide berth, filled with soft metal-mesh pillows, filled most of the remaining space. Paintings and crystal statues decorated the room, as well as finely woven metal-fiber fabrics, which hung around the window, covered the berth and the table. Praxians adored soft materials, blankets, pillows, shawls and coverings and it showed in this traditionally decorated room. 

On the berth, leaning against pillows and each other, two mechs sat, softly whispering to one another.

“The further your term progresses, the more beautiful you become.” Whispered the other, completely genuine in his adoration. His coloring was dark grey, even black in places. He had red accents and sharp edges to his armor, his optics glowing deep blue. A sharp red chevron, feature almost as typical as sensory wings on a Praxian, sat on his helm, gently curving backwards. He nuzzled the cheek plates of his mate, his servo sweeping gently up and down the other’s plating. The other returned the affectionate nuzzle by pressing his chevron, this one gold and pointed, against the other’s. The mech had white and green plating, accented with darker green and blue. His build was heavier than his partner’s, but the armor covering his protoform was lighter. He was a civilian, while the other was heavy-duty enforcer, which resulted in different grades of protective armor.

Highlight and Quickrun were a mated pair, not by spark but love. And, to their greatest joy, Highlight was kindled and carrying a sparkling. Sparklings were not rare, but no couple took it as a given right, being able to have one. Kindling was often difficult if spark frequencies did not mach. Both had been ecstatic, and had immediately started to make arrangements. Highlight had given in his resignation, preferring the thought of staying home rather than working. Quickrun had received a promotion to a lieutenant as an enforcer and thus his work now had a better pay, more stability and was much safer since he now worked more behind his desk. They had sold their previous housing and moved to an area where families with sparklings preferred. It was calmer, safer and would provide their newling with plenty of playmates. Highlight had a knack for decorating and soon their housing was warm and welcoming home for their expanding family. 

Highlight cast a fond and loving look at his mate, who had an absolutely besotted look on his face. “I don’t look much different, you are only acting like a love-sick fool.” He teased gently, his words filled with equal love. Quickrun laughed lightly, happiness making it sound like ringing bells. It was this laugh that had Highlight falling fast and hard for this mech, and he cherished every single one.

“You do not see yourself like I do, there is a glow to you, which makes you look like you walked straight out of one of Silver servo’s paintings.” He answered, nodding to one of the paintings of a mech bathed in a beautiful glow in a Crystal park. The painting style made it look like the mech was from another world entirely, mythical and beautiful. Highlight could feel his outer plating heating in flattered embarrassment. Really, his mate was so free with his compliments! And utterly shameless, too. Quickrun smiled, his optics fluttering shut as he curled into his mate, the being who made his life so wonderful. And now this amazing mech was going to gift him with another life!

He was going to be a progenitor!

xxXXxx

Highlight withered on the medical berth as the small spark he had been guarding was disconnecting from his. Small tendrils of energy and their very life essence stretched and strained, but did not yet break. The spark had been strengthened as it grew and matured to the point where it could power a frame of its own, and upon separation, it would trigger a transformation sequence. This would pull the extra material Highlight had been gathering during his term and through the newlings first transformation, would become the little one’s frame.

Quickrun held his mate’s had, whispering encouragement ad a medic stood by, observing the separation and standing ready to offer assistance should it be needed.

“You are doing so well, love.” Murmured Quickrun as the small spark attempted yet again to pull free, causing strain to both sparks. “He is nearly separated, only slightly longer. I am here, I will not leave you.” Highlight clung to his mate’s servo and concentrated on his voice. He pushed spark energy to the little one, trying his best to help the small spark separate, even if his spark wanted nothing more than keep the little one with him, close and safe. 

One more surge of energy and the small spark separated. The medic stepped closer, ever vigilant but calm. This was the most important part. Depending on the strength of the newling spark, it would pull parts of its originator to itself and would form a frame. If all went well, parts of protoform, cabling, tubing, support struts and plating would break from the originator with no damage and gather around the spark, forming a fully functional protoform, support structures, neural wiring and sensory network, tubing, tension cables, everything needed in a mechanism, all in a matter of few breems.

And so did this sparkling. Highlight felt nothing other than small electric discharges as his frame broke into pieces, donating what was needed to his newling. It was not much since newlings were small and fragile compared to adult frames. An adult mech could hold their newling in one servo. And this one seemed to be even smaller. Newlings were grey, as their color nanities would form the first coloring within a vorn. Later they could even paint the little one, nanities copying the applied coloring accordingly, but the first color would be the natural one.

Highlight and Quickrun watched in awe as the newling clicked and whirred during its transformation, one little servo formed, small digits curled but showing small claws, undoubtedly inherited from his progenitor. Then distinct, delicate pede, and a set of sensory wings unfolded from what must be the back. The delicate panels waved in the air, already gathering data and furling and unfurling as panels slid against each other. A helm was formed, optics glowing deep gold, slightly slanted and wide, same as his originator’s. Quickrun hummed in happiness, his mate’s best feature was perfect on the little face! The chevron stood proud and striking, the wings were large and mobile, attractive feature in a Praxian. The newling had more softer than sharper edges and would most likely be slightly small like his progenitor. The hips and legs were strong and round, less blocky than greater part of the Cybertonians. The sparkling was perfect. The transformation sequence finished, leaving a small newling squeaking and twittering on his originator’s abdomen, small claws grasping at the plating. The small fans stuttered, then sprang to life as the hum of operational systems filled the air. Small engine revved with adorable high-pitched pitch and then settled. The medic smiled, gesturing to Highlight he could draw the sparkling in his arms. 

“Why don’t you feed him first, before I check his systems more thoroughly, primary scans show essential systems are operational and functioning within parameters.”

Highlight nodded, drawing the squeaking, trembling ball closer to his chest plates. He wrapped the sparkling in his field of comfort and love, feeling his mate’s field join his. The sparkling quieted, the shock of separating into his own frame lessening. Highlight drew his closest feeding line and tickled the soft metal of the newlings cheek. Tactile sensors transmitted a signal and triggered a reflex, a small mouth opened and the newling turned his head, seeking the source and upon finding it, starting to suck.

The medic smiled, “Tactile sensors are operational, primitive coding is active and working. As his processor starts to truly develop, there reflexes start to vanish and will be replaced by adult reflexes and conscious actions.” When sparklings separated, their operational systems didn’t have much more than basic life maintaining programming online. More sophisticated programming would develop later as their frame grew and some could be installed when the processor matured enough. Sparkling often naturally started copying their procreators’ programming when their cables started developing, some copied programming from surrounding computers and appliances. Quickrun had a unit mate who’s sparkling had downloaded a loudspeaker operation system and had developed a music system which he incorporated into his frame, allowing him to play downloaded music from proper speakers. Much to his procreators’ dismay.

Highlight smiled as the newling began to feed, optics dim in both exhaustion and contentment. Quickrun reached out a hand, running a gentle claw on the small, sensitive sensory wings. The panels fluttered slightly, opening and closing as they shifted. The newling let out a small mewl of pleasure, optics dimming and optical shutters almost closed. A small servo clasped at Highlight’s armor as the newling curled into a ball, sensory wings fluttering before settling to rest against the newling’s back plating.

The medic was still documenting the newling’s readings as he asked, “Have you picked out his designation?”

The couple glanced at each other, before returning their gaze at the small mechanism curled on Highlight’s chest plate.

“Prowl, his designation is Prowl.” Answered Quickrun and pressed a kiss to his mate’s temple. 

xxXXxx

“Prowl?” called Highlight, both worry and exasperation coloring his tone, “Prowl, dear spark, where are you?” Both Highlight and Quickrun had soon learned that the designation they had chosen for their offspring was perhaps a bit too apt. The newling could not yet crawl on all fours, only scoot forward on his stomach plating, but he could vanish within a click if he wanted. One would think the scraping sound of metal on metal would alert the progenitors their newling was making an escape, but Prowl had learned the art of crawling in near silence. And fast. He had learned to only magnetize one pede and used it to bush him much faster than he should. Generally sparklings gained control of magnetizing around the time they learned to walk and run, allowing them to independently climb their creators armor. Newlings could magnetize their whole frame if the were startled, which made it nearly impossible to drop a newling. Prowl, being an overachiever, had learned to master this particular skill deca-orns in advance. Highlight had turned away to fix his own energon and when he had turned back, Prowl had already been gone. The minute Prowl’s systems would allow it, Highlight would set a tracker on the little rascal. He shuddered to think what would follow when Prowl learned to walk. 

He kneeled on the floor of his living room, searching under the couches, but nothing. Had his little one already left the room? He flared his sensory wing, trying to catch his sparklings spark signature. A soft chirp came from the kitchen, confirming what his sensors were already picking up. Highlight rose, eye’s wide, he had just come from the kitchen, how had the newling gotten past him? Still calling for his mischievous newling, he walked to the kitchen. The table sat in front of the window, energon dispensary by the far wall. The counters were as he had left them and the cabinets were…. one was open slightly. Calmer now he walked towards the half open kitchen cabinet, which was filled with different energon additives, effectively shut against curious newlings (who should not be able to climb into cupboards or kitchen cabinets). Engine crooning softly he opened the cabinet door to find his newling between two containers, chewing on one and seemingly determined to open it.

Reaching into the cabinet Highlight sighed fondly, drawing out his little escapist. “There you are, little one. Those are not for you just yet, come with me and we’ll eat.” Prowl answered with an exited chirp upon seeing his originator, hands reaching to be picked up. Highlight laughed as he bounced Prowl a few times, drawing exited squeals, twitters and clicks from the newling. Walking back to the living room, where he had left his own energon, he settled on the couch, newling held securely in his arms. He set Prowl on his side against his chest, holding him in one arm. One sensory panel resting on his arm, one hanging under it, Highlight curled his servo under and around one thigh, allowing the newling to kick the other leg freely. This was Prowl’s preferred feeding position and he was already searching for the feeding line, eager for his energon. Newlings were fed processed energon by their originators. The mixture was absolutely saturated in minerals and metals, which served as building material for the sparkling, As their systems matured, medics could add extensions to their frame so they would have to build everything from scratch, or the sparkling would ingest actual metals, oil and other substances, but newlings and young sparklings only fed from their originator. In rare cases where the originator perished, the procreator’s feeding systems would online to ensure the development of the sparkling.

Highlight leaned back on the couch, his sensory wings spreading against the soft fabric. He picked up his own cube and sipped at it while listening to the quiet clicks of his newling. No matter what trouble Prowl would bring as he grew, his procreators loved him more than anything.

xxXXxx

Quickrun leaned back against the couch, which stood right behind him. He was seated on the floor, his squealing and chirping sparkling held securely in his arms as he hefted Prowl up and down, making jet engine noises. Prowl shrieked his joy at the movement, arms and legs kicking, sensory wings flapping as if he believed he would gain flight if he only wiggled them enough. Quickrun chuckled and grinned, as entertained as Prowl was by their game. Their little newling had grown into a sparkling as he had gained his primary colors. Prowl’s plating was different shades of black and white, with red and gold added to the mix. His chevron was bright red like his progenitors, but the base had a spot of gold. His armor too had red and gold lining the black and white, setting him apart from the completely monochrome of enforcer-preferred paint.

Prowl had yet to learn to crawl on all fours, let alone walk, but it could be attributed to larger than average sensory wings, as well as sheer laziness. Prowl most likely though scooting forward on his stomach was perfectly reasonable way to move from place A to place B, and saw no need to extend the effort to do more. When he realized he could move that much faster on two legs, he would likely learn to walk in few orns. Highlight speculated Prowl thought it safer to stay close to the floor where there was no danger of falling.

Despite his lack of interest in walking, Prowl had already developed his download cables enough to start rudimentary data download. Language packet would be too large and complex for him, most sparkling would learn to talk sooner than they could download a language packet as difficult as basic cybertronian. In fact, most data they could download from adults was too much form them. All adult cybertronians had the ability to download almost anything, but this included glitches and viruses, which could be even fatal. Newlings had no cables developed enough to download anything. As they grew, their cables often extended automatically as they were fed, and as such, the first thing they connected to were their originators. This allowed them to copy rudimentary protection as the first thing they downloaded. As they grew, sparklings preferred to connect to their procreators and so they would download bits of data at a time and build up their defenses. They then tested those defenses on different devices in their environment. Prowl had managed to download and construct defenses usually seen on a youngling, and his processing and integrating abilities were far beyond what could be expected. Quickrun and Highlight both had already set a copy of their language packet on the outside of their firewall so Prowl could download it, sure he could integrate it, but Prowl had no interest in it. Instead, he had scratched at their firewalls until Quickrun had let Prowl run free in certain sections and to their surprise, Prowl had downloaded advanced calculating and tactical programs. They had no idea if Prowl was able to use them, but the little sparkling certainly set up his own processor in rather unique way. Apparently Prowl thought there were more important things than language packets to download.

Quickrun was sure Prowl would become a wonderful tactician or statistic researcher. Or maybe engineer or even medic. Either way, they had a smart little spark. Quickrun was already so proud of him. He brought Prowl down to rest against his chassis when he noted the sparkling was starting to tire. Prowl gave few annoyed chirps and clicks when his fun ended, but settled soon enough. It was soon time to recharge and already his protocols were starting to shut down processor treads. He yawned, flushing his whole system with cool air to help the systems wind down and snuggled closer to his progenitor. His wrist panels clicked open and data wires sneaked out, connecting to Quickrun’s chest-port. Quickrun chuckled as he felt the sleepy mind lightly float against the edges of his, not interested in even touching the strong firewall. He send love and affection down the connection, then a small data packet. The data flowed down the connection and bounced off the firewall at the other end just like Quickrun new it would. Prowl did not even twitch, testament to the strength of his protection. Love returned, as well as sleepy haziness as the processor slowed down and entered the recharge cycle. Quickrun ran gentle claws up and down the little sensory wings, drawing a content purr from his sparkling. Gently he drew the data wires from his port, watching as they lazily drew back into their housing, protective panel closing with a soft click. He drew Prowl even closer and pressed his lip components to the little helm, before rising and taking his sparkling to his recharge berth.

xxXXxx

Prowl woke in the dark. It was quiet, only near inaudible hum of electricity could be heard. Prowl knew it was late into the sixth cycle, time when very few mechs were awake and functioning. He did not know what had woken him, but the dark felt lonely to him. He felt the quietness eat at his spark, feelings of loneliness and fear took hold of his processor. Running his favorite calculations did not help, and neither did burrowing in his pillows and blankets. But there was one sure way to banish his negative feelings, even if it took some work.

His recharge berth was designed to protect him from falling since sparklings were often restless in their recharge. It made the escape challenging but not impossible. Using both his ability to magnetizing and his claws, he agilely climbed over the railing, which was considerably higher than him. Soon he was low enough to drop softly on the floor. His legs gave out and he ended up falling on his aft, as he knew he would. It stung a little, but the end result was worth a few scrapes. He clicked comfortingly to himself as he set to crawl towards the master berthroom, where his procreators recharged.

As he reached the edge of the berth he sat up, reaching for something to grasp. His claws found purchase on the edge and Prowl first drew himself up, and then started his attempt at climbing. But the berth was high, and he could find nothing to brace his pedes against. And as expected, he lost his grip, flipped onto his back and falling before he could magnetize himself. His primitive reflexes were long gone, and all he had for protection for his fall were his servos, which he automatically swept back trying to catch himself. The crash and the following whimper were enough to wake his procreators and Quickrun leaned over the edge, still partly in recharge to see his offspring lying on his back, looking shocked and ready to cry. Highlight, who had been recharging against his mate mumbled sleepily “Is it Prowl? How did he get out, we just raised the railing of his berth…” 

Quickrun crooned at Prowl as he picked the sparkling up, calming him as he soothed the hurt sensory wings with magnetic pulses from his servos. He turned and set Prowl between him and Highlight as he answered his mate. “I do not think the height of the railing does much to stop him anymore, not when he is determined to reach us.” Highlight hummed in agreement as rubbed his hand between Prowls sensory wings. “You would think he’d simply cry to wake us when he wakes instead of going through the trouble of making his way here instead.” Quickrun laughed as he drew his mate closer, settling Prowl between them. “I think he likes his independence.” Highlight huffed lightly as he snuggled against his mate, their sparkling snug between them.

Prowl settled between his procreators, the effort of making his way had been more than worth it. There was no better place than being squashed between the warm plating of his originator and his procreator.

xxXXxx

Highlight walked down the street with Prowl held securely in his arms. The sparkling, apparently still too young to speak, was clicking and beeping excitedly, gesturing and pointing at everything he saw. Highlight obliged him, looking where Prowl gestured and nodded assuring that yes, he saw and yes, it was very pretty, yes he was very impressed and thank you for pointing that out to me. Prowl was quite sure his originator would miss most of the wonderful things if they weren’t pointed out to him. Silly origin! Luckily Prowl was there to make sure his originator got to appreciate the wonderful sights.

Prowl’s enthusiastic actions garnered many smiles and some knowing looks from the passers-by. Another mech –originator himself –stopped to chat with Highlight and to coo at Prowl.

Later it took much effort for enforcers to pierce together what exactly happened at that moment, but the sequence of events that changed Prowl’s life were approximately this:

Another mech was carrying several boxes, which contained slightly volatile substances. He could not carry them in his subspace and driving would require safety arrangements. But he did not need to transport them far, so he had opted to simply walk. It might have been safer to carry fewer boxes, allowing better maneuverability, but he had several more to move so he had chosen to carry more than advisable.

A mech had been arguing with his intended in a nearby shop. At the end of the argument, his love had left the shop and the mech standing there with no idea what to do. A friend had urged the mech to go after his love and in order to catch the rapidly departing lover, the mech had rushed out of the shop. In his haste, he had slightly collided with a mech carrying several boxes. The mechs arms were too full and in his attempt to catch the two falling boxes, he ended up dropping several more.

On the ground were several puddles of acid from a rain that had passed over Praxus last cycle. The puddles were small enough not to cause harm to mechs walking by, but the acid soaked the boxes, and caused the volatile compound to react.

Thick smoke filled the street and nearby driving lane. The boxes blew up, not with enough energy to cause harm, but with loud enough noise to scare every mech and femme in close vicinity. 

A femme –progenitor with a youngling –was one of the startled mechanisms and rushed to get to her youngling, who she could barely see or sense through the thick smoke permeating the air, disturbing both visual and wing sensors. While she rushed by, she knocked into another mech, causing him to fall.

Highlight was clutching at Prowl, trying to see what was happening through the smoke, not daring to rush blindly anywhere. He could get no sensory data from his surrounding, leaving him nearly blind. Prowl whined in distress at losing visibility and the sudden chaos that spread to the street. Clicking uncertainly, he clutched at his originators armor. Suddenly there was a mech falling against Highlight, causing him to fall to the ground with another, larger, mech on top of him. The fall was violent enough to cause him to lose his grip on Prowl, and the sparkling was sent flying. 

Prowl hit the ground hard. Disorientated, he tried to sit up, keening and screeching for his originator. The visibility was low and his sensors were jarred from his fall preventing him from finding his origin. Scared, he started to crawl, crying for his origin.

Highlight was momentarily stunned by the sudden fall, but terror cleared any haziness left behind when he realized his sparkling was no longer in his arms. Desperately he searched for Prowl while trying to push the heavier mech off him. He spared his sensory wings, trying to find Prowl, but the smoke was still causing interference. He could not find Prowl! He turned his helm, opting to search purely visually, when he saw Prowl. Prowl was some distance away from him, and moving, but when Highlight saw where exactly Prowl was headed, a wail of terror escaped his vocalizer. 

Prowl was headed towards the driving lane. 

The visibility was not clear, some smoke had drifted there and there was no guarantee the drivers would notice a sparkling crawling to the lane. Highlight wriggled with desperation, keens escaping from his vocalizer between calls of Prowl’s designation. But Prowl seemed to be ignoring them as he only seemed to crawl faster.

Prowl could hear his originator, but could not pinpoint the source of the sound. Everything was hazy and fuzzy, weird tingling coming from his sensors and spreading over his plating. He recognized fear in his originator’s voice and crawled faster, trying to get to his origin. 

Prowl fell to the driving lane.

Highlight finally managed to escape and shot off like a bullet towards his sparkling.

A heavy-duty transport vehicle saw smoke on the lane and dropped his speed lightly, confused.

Prowl turned his head as a thunderous roar headed toward him, seeing blinding light through the smoke. He shrieked in terror and curled into a ball, shaking and paralyzed from fear.

Highlight shot over the railing, reaching for Prowl.

The transport vehicle suddenly had a mech jumping in front of him. Letting out a bellow of fear, he tried to avoid collusion, triggering his transformation sequence in hopes of avoiding the mech.. 

Another transport vehicle slammed against the one suddenly breaking, casing it to slide forward even as it finished transforming to root mode in shower of sparks and screeching metal.

Highlight grabbed Prowl, too late to move, but just enough time to flung Prowl over the railing, back to the street.

Several crashes occurred. Several were hurt. Only one mech was deactivated.

Prowl lost his originator. 

And Quickrun lost his love for life.

xxXXxx

Prowl had been flung a second time in a breem and this time he did not attempt to move in a long while. He laid were he had fallen, between the walking street and the busy driving lane and tried to get his bearings. He had several scratches and one optic had cracked. But his sensors were recalibrating, allowing him to make more sense of the world. When everything stopped spinning, he attempted to sit up. Moans of pain were heard from the lane, sounds of fear and terror from the street. Mechs were moving, calling for help, crawling to sidelines, attempting to help others. The moment of quiet shock was lifting as mechs started to react to what they had witnessed. 

No one had yet noticed the sparkling amongst the slowly lifting smoke. Prowl keened in fear, and spread his sensory wings, trying to find his originator. A flicker caught his attention. It was familiar, but also not. His originator was like a beacon in his sensory range, this was a mere whisper. Still, Prowl started moving towards it, faster than ever before in his life, despite his injuries. He crawled under the railing again, falling dawn to the driving lane. He ignored the pain and continued. There was oil, lubricant, energon and coolant spread over the road. Several mechs were groaning and starting to move, others were starting to move in to help them. Some distance away was Prowls originator. 

Prowl let out a high wail and headed forward. His origin’s beautiful colors were fading, turning dull and grey. His optics weren’t on and his vent made a horrible sounding rattle. Time to time energon spurted from the vents. His plating was ripped and wiring spilled out. Sparks flew from ripped wires and steam rose from underneath his originator’s chassis. The smell of burning circuits and spilled energon filled the air. Prowl shook, optics wide at the sight. He could no longer keen, shock and horror stealing his voice. He still continued moving, not quite knowing how to stop, until he was curled underneath his origin’s chin, between the junction of his helm and chassis. From his position he saw a sensory panel, bent nearly in two. When he leaned against the plating, it crumbled slightly inwards.

Prowl stared at his origin, hesitantly calling for him. Small flickers of his field were still there, but they hurt when they touched and interviewed with Prowl’s. 

Pain. Terror. 

Agony.

Then nothing.

Prowl shook a moment longer, before stilling completely, passively staring at the now completely grey plating. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. Not even when a medic finally removed him away from the deactivated originator.

Prowl had learned what deactivation meant in the most visceral way possible, and would never forget the feeling of a deactivating field.


	2. Hello, Quiet

Quickrun stared at Praxus’ busy streets through the hospital window, but didn’t truly see anything. Behind him Prowl was sleeping on a medical berth designed for sparklings. His optic had been replaced and his plating repaired but he was sleeping restlessly. He would turn on his side, wings opening and closing, quiet whines escaping his vocalizer. He had not made a sound while he had been tended by the medic, hadn’t cried when he had seen his procreator. He had been silent until the moment he had fallen into recharge.

Quickrun had yet to react to the calls of distress. He heard them only vaguely, as if they were coming a great distance away, and didn’t truly register that it was Prowl’s cries he heard.

Highlight had been his everything. He did not know how to continue living without his mate. Did not know what to do with the agony he felt in his spark. The thought of finding no respite, no relief filled him with despair, which faded into numbness as it became too much for him to handle. He longed to join his mate in the Well. To escape the terrifying nothingness that would be his long functioning without the light in his life. It would mean the end for his pain. It would let him see Highlight again. He wouldn’t be so terribly lost then. A tremor shook his frame, desperate yearning filling his spark.

A whimper came from the medical berth, breaking his line of thought and shattering his one desperate wish. Prowl needed him. Highlight would never forgive him if he left their sparkling behind. How could he ever face his loving mate if he abandoned the sparkling Highlight had loved so much.

He moved from his position, joints creaking as they protested the movement. It was as if his frame had assumed he would never move from his position again. He walked towards the medical berth, climbing over the railing and settling next to Prowl. He curled around the sparkling, allowing Prowl to cling to him in his plating. The sparkling didn’t wake, merely settled slightly. He gathered Prowl into his arms, running his claws on the sensory wings like was his habit, this time the gesture more automatic than any intent to convey love and affection. He curled up tighter on the medical berth, Prowl held in his arms. Inside his chassis, his spark fractured and fell to pieces.

He never noticed how he had though only of Highlight’s love for Prowl, not his own.

xxXXxx

Quickrun sat at the table, hands curled around his cube. He didn’t move, he barely vented. He didn’t drink his energon. He had been given indefinite leave, to look after Prowl and to recover from the trauma of losing his mate. He would have a place to return to, but from the tone of his superior, they did not expect him back anytime soon.

The house felt too quiet. The walls were pressing on him, causing a small ball of panic to form inside him. There was no relief from his pain, no distractions. Only the memories that tormented him. Silent echoes of Highlight, his steps, his voice, his spark. Quickrun would catch them just briefly on his sensory range but when he focused, they would vanish. He could not escape, and so his emotional agony formed into a heavy stone inside him. Weighting at his frame and clouding his processor. He didn’t’ quite feel connected to reality anymore, like his spark was already half-way to the well. But instead of staying or going, he was stuck in-between. Everything felt distant, like a dream. His thoughts felt like they were someone else’s, his frame didn’t seem to belong to him.

Prowl sat on the floor. He had a small puzzle held in his servos. It was his favorite toy; he loved calculating the odds of each move solving it. But now he found no comfort in it. He felt odd, and didn’t like the feeling. What he had experienced had burned itself into his processor and every time he thought of The Event, a feeling spread over his circuitry. Prowl didn’t like the feeling. It made everything hurt and caused nausea. It made moving and making any sounds difficult. It was absolutely horrible feeling and he could do nothing to ease it. It made him shake and caused lethargy. He was too young to recognize the feeling as a horrible mix of horror, spark breaking grief, depression, anxiety and guilt. He had no hope of untangling the emotional ball of torment and so it sat inside him, making him lethargic and quiet, stealing his appetite and preventing him from recharging and was steadily manifesting as different pains. When his tanks didn’t hurt, his processor hurt. When his processor didn’t hurt his frame was achy. 

His sensory wings trembled and he looked at his progenitor who had not moved for a whole cycle. His progenitor had changed. His field had been warm and loving, radiating comfort, affection and safety. Now it was so cold and scary, it hurt to be near. He no longer smiled, or even talked. He didn’t lift Prowl into his arms and no longer cuddled with him. His progenitor rarely even remembered to feed him.

Prowl set the puzzle on the floor and crawled to his progenitor. He lifted his servos to clutch at the shin plating of the neared stabilizer, claws finding purchase on the edges of the armor. His progenitor’s field prickled as it touched him, but Prowl pushed through it with his own. He chirped beseechingly at his progenitor, wanting to be held and comforted.

His progenitor did not even notice him.

xxXXxx

Quickrun heard the high screeches of a terrified sparkling. The high shrieks promoted him to move to Prowl’s berth and to lift the shaking sparkling into his arms. He gave a few absentminded pats as he walked around the residence, eventually coming to a stand in the living room window. Memory fluxes and nightmares were common occurrences, and he habitually picked Prowl up when he heard the cries. He didn’t remember what else they used to do to soothe Prowl. He just curled an arm awkwardly under the sparklings aft so Prowl could lean against him. He would start by giving him a few clumsy pats, but would soon forget his other servo and leave it to hang uselessly at his side. He often forgot to hold on to his creation with both servos. In turn, Prowl rarely left his frame un-magnetized when Quickrun held him. The progenitor’s hold wasn’t secure enough for him to truly relax, even in recharge. His magnetizing reflex was coming back, and integrating as part of his conscious and automatic reflexes.

xxXXxx

Quickrun stood by the door to their shared berthroom. 

His berthroom. No one else slept there now.

He did not know how long he had stood there. He didn’t know how long he was going to stand there. The walls were screaming at him. The empty space was screaming at him. Painful echoes and phantoms of Highlight walked in the room, the whispers becoming booming shouts in his mind. 

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t go inside. He couldn’t. If he did, if he went there to recharge in that berth alone he felt he would break apart. He would shatter and no force on this plane could put him back together. His sensory wings, now permanently hanging low on his back – mark of a deeply grieving mech – trembled with minute tremors. His whole plating was rattling quietly with the force of his distress.

There was no comfort to be found.

Suddenly something impacted with his left shin plating. He could feel small pricks as something took hold of his knee and clung. He looked down and saw Prowl, who hung from his knee guard as he attempted to stand on his stabilizers, sensory wings spread for balance.

Golden optics, exactly same as his originator’s stared up at him, a pathetic, almost begging look in them. Prowl separated one servo from his knee guard and reached up towards Quickrun.

For a long moment they stared at each other. Slowly Quickrun’s violently surging field eased slightly, some of the trembling easing. Then another image slotted itself over Quickrun’s visage of Prowl. Highlight’s warm optics and gentle smile filled his vision momentarily before it vanished and he again saw only Prowl, who’s optics were now leaking tears. Optic-cleansing fluid ran down his cheek plating as Quickrun failed to pick him up.

Suddenly the quiet panic and grief surged in Quickrun’s spark. Overwhelming feeling of grief, loneliness and complete and utter panic at the thought of being trapped here, in this house and in this life, with those optics staring at him formed into a ball of toomuchtoomuchtoomuch, it exploded into his field, devastation flaring and filling the space around him. Answering keen came from the ground but Quickrun didn’t hear it, he spun on his heels, wanting to escape somewhere, anywhere. He rushed into the living room, but there was no escape there, he returned to the hall, helm turning in desperate search, vents heaving, when he saw the door to outside. He rushed to it, punched the code to open it, squeezing through before it even opened properly. As soon as he got to the street he transformed, speeding to the dark cycle.

Prowl had been knocked aside by Quickrun’s fast movement, and by the time he had gotten up again, the door was already sliding shut behind Quickrun.

Prowl looked around, spreading his sensory wings in hopes of sensing someone, anyone, near. But he was met with ringing quietness of the empty house. Loneliness, desolation and fear gripped at his spark, but this time there were no procreators to crawl to. Clicking in distress he called out. Only echo answered him. Sensory wings flitting madly, trying to sense imagined threats in the residence, he finally slowly started moving. Using the wall, he slowly drew himself to his pedes. Quietly, carefully, he inched forward.

There was someone in the house. Prowl knew it, even if he could not sense it.  
Or maybe it was something. Prowl’s distressed clicks died out as he powered all his sensors to full capacity. Still, he could not sense anything. But he felt the heavy atmosphere, oppressive quality he had never felt before. It felt like it stole any sound that tried to make it’s way to be heard. It took and took, and left Prowl and his procreator with nothing but pain.

Prowl decided to name it Quiet.

Quiet was the new monster that had invaded his home and stolen his progenitor from him. It had curled its claws around genitors spark and stolen it away. Poor genitor, he had run out of the house in fear of Quiet. 

And now Quiet was trying to steal Prowl’s spark, too. 

Near silently, so as not to attract the attention of the monster made of nothingness, Prowl inched his way to living room. The room had never seemed so vast and unwelcoming. It didn’t feel like a safe place, leaving Prowl feeling extremely vulnerable standing next to the couch. Quiet could find him! Carefully he drew on of the blankets on the couch until one fell down and crawled underneath the couch, dragging it with him. There he wrapped himself inside the blanket, curling in on himself tightly. Slowly he started a slow rocking motion. 

Silently, slowly, back-and-fort, back-and-fort. 

The, under the couch, Prowl slowly rocked himself as he cried. He cried and cried and cried, with no-one to comfort him and without a single sound.

Praying his progenitor would come back. Would hold him and soothe him.

Eventually, he rocked himself to sleep.

xxXXxx

Quickrun was preparing two cubes of energon. One was for himself, other was for Prowl. Prowl was a bit too young to be without originators energon but too old for Quickrun’s feeding protocols to online, so the medic who had treated Prowl at the hospital had given him the necessary additives to mix into low grade energon. He set his own cube at his seat at the table and Prowl’s in front of the high chair. He looked around for Prowl, saw him just next to his pede and reached to lift him up. Prowl reacted eagerly, reaching with his hands for Quickrun, but Quickrun merely lifted him underneath the arms, setting him in specialized chair which allowed Prowl to reach his energon but prevented him from falling. Prowl continued to reach for Quickrun even as he was set down again and left in the chair. He let out a quiet desolate beep, but Quickrun didn’t react. He merely sat in his own chair and stared into his cube. 

Prowl kept trying to reach his progenitor, letting out miserable chirps, but eventually he gave up. He was hungry and so he reached for the cube. Drinking from a cube was difficult for Prowl, and much of it ended up on his plating and on the table. Hungry as he was, he carefully licked every drop within his reach.

Quickrun kept staring at his cube.

Prowl sat quietly for a long time, but eventually started to whine and wiggle, wanting to get down. When this didn’t get him any reactions, he started to wail. Eventually wails turned to shrieks of pure misery and frustration when his progenitor did nothing to comfort him or even just lift him down. Prowl cried for a long, long time. Eventually he quieted, completely exhausted and vocalizer strained. He rested for a moment against the table, and then began to wiggle out. His practice with escaping from his berth paid off and eventually he could feel his pedes touching the ground. A few drops of his energon meal were still on the ground and he licked those off too, hungry again after his long crying.

He looked up at his progenitor, who hadn’t looked at Prowl once during his fit. Scratching at his own face plates, where dried optic fluid itched, he sat for a moment, then set off to find as comforting place to rest as he could find. 

He had learned his lesson. Crying would not get him anything.

xxXXxx

Quickrun was startled from his thoughts by a sudden ping from the entrance.  
He had visitors, asking for entrance. Bemused, he moved towards the door. He had not seen anyone since Highlight’s ceremony, where the frame had been taken for recycling and mechs had gathered to say their goodbyes. As he reached the hallway, he sent a command for the door to open. It slid aside to reveal Lightstep and Downjump, a mated pair and close friends to both Quickrun and Highlight. They had visited him and Prowl at the hospital, as well as helped with the funeral ceremony, along with Gamma and Radium - a pair of siblings - and Impact. All close friends whose attempts of contact he had ignored. It seemed Lightstep and Downjump had opted for a more direct approach.

Lightstep had a container in her hands and she held it towards Quickrun as the two entered the residence. “We brought you some silver-topped silicon cakes. They are suitable for young sparklings as well. Prowl might like them.” They both looked so hopeful as they stood there in the entranceway, hoping to be invited in. Quickrun did not wish to see anyone, let alone let them into his home, but his manners and basic decency promoted him to gesture the pair in.

Prowl, who’d heard voices from the hallway came toddling unsteadily in view, already lifting his hands towards Downjump in hopes of being picked up and cuddled. Downjump smiled as he kneeled on the floor, arms wide and welcoming. “Prowl! Hi! Hi little one! Oh, since when have you been able to walk? Finally got bored crawling everywhere, huh?” 

Prowl clicked and chirped excitedly, finally reaching the open arm and burrowing into Downjump’s chassis. He dug his claws in, not wanting to take the chance of being put down if he had any say in it, his engine making soft purring sounds of content.  
“Aww,” cooed Lightstep, reaching her hand to caress Prowl’s sensory wings as Downjump rose up. “He must have missed us, poor little thing.” Prowl shut off his optics, intending to fully enjoy the attentions as long as he could. Quickrun stood by the side, quietly observing the pair, pain gnawing at his spark as the moment only served to remind him what he had lost. He turned towards the kitchen area, intending to set out some diluted midgrade and the silicon cakes. The two would follow him there with Prowl.

For the reminder of the evening, Lightstep and Downjump stayed with Quickrun and Prowl. The conversation was stilted and awkward, lacking the ease with which they had discussed prior Highlight’s deactivation. Quickrun took part in the conversation, but it was as he was making polite conversation with acquaintances. He didn’t allow it to become personal. He treated his friends with perfect politeness, but as the cycles went on Lightstep’s and Downjump’s sensory wings drooped lower and lower. They felt like their friend was vanishing before their eyes and they could do nothing about it. Determined not to give up on Quickrun, they stayed late, only starting to leave when fifth cycle neared its end. 

Lightstep stood up from the floor, where she had been solving a puzzle with Prowl. Prowl had spent the evening curled up in either one’s lap, and drawn them to playing games with him as they talked. As they stood to leave, his sensory wings drooped but he didn’t protest. He already knew crying would not get him what he wanted. He only whined quietly to himself, releasing some of the emotional pain he was in. The sound was high, different than any cry either Lightstep or Downjump had ever heard from him. Lightstep swooped down and gathered him in her arms, crooning and hushing him. 

“Hey now, dear spark. What’s with that noise, hmm? Come now, nothing is wrong, we will visit you again. No need to cry.” Soothing Prowl as they walked towards the door, Lightstep hesitated. “We’ll come again for a visit. We’ll tell other’s to come as well. You need to socialize, Quickrun.” Downjump petted Prowl’s back between his sensory wings. “She’s right, Quick. And comm. us if you need us. You need to leave the house every once in a while. Bring Prowl for a visit or something. Or we can look after him and you can go out.” He looked beseechingly at Quickrun, who merely looked back, giving an unenthusiastic nod of acknowledgement.  
Lightstep sighed, handing Prowl to Quickrun who took him automatically. Prowl curled up against his progenitor’s plating, but did not grasp it with his claws. In fact, he did not reach out to touch Quickrun at all.

Lightstep and Downjump said their goodbyes and left. As the door closed behind them, Prowl could hear Quiet slipping in through the small cracks. He shivered. Quickrun stood there for a moment, before heading towards the living room. Absentmindedly he set Prowl down, like a pile of blankets, and slid to lie on the couch.

He did not move until late to the next light cycle.


	3. Love, loveless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some inspiration was drawn from a fic called Turning Points by Alathea2. Or at least I thought about it as I wrote. If you haven't read it, you REALLY should. It's awesome. It's on fan fiction.net.
> 
> Oh yeah, title of the fic is from a song, since I have no imagination. It fit well enough to the theme. You've probably realized by now english is not my first language. So, I doubt anyone's ever heard of the band since it's from my home country. It's written and sung by Korpiklaani.

Prowl stood behind a closed door, his legs steady beneath him. Standing and walking was just one of the many skills he had learned fast in the previous planetary rotations, since his progenitor rarely looked to his needs. He had learned how to clean his own plating with solvent when the cumulating dirt had started to itch. He had learned how to reach the solvent taps by climbing the metal railings of the washroom walls. In fact, he had learned how to climb all metal surfaces that had magnetic abilities. A necessary skill when his progenitor vanished for several cycles. Sometimes he was gone for orns. Prowl had learned how to draw energon from the dispenser after plugging into it and downloading the operation system. He had then broken the programming into pieces and studied the code until he understood how it made the dispenser function. The resulting energon did not contain enough metal and nutrients, but it kept him fed over the long joors he was left alone.

His progenitor was currently home, but behind a locked door. Prowl was determined to get through it to his progenitor. His spark hurt. He was lonely. He was miserable. 

Many nights, he woke up abruptly, startled by something he no longer remembered. But his spark would be spinning in absolute panic and often he would be crying. Sometimes quietly with fluid streaking down his cheek plates, sometimes he’d be outright sobbing. But the scariest times were the times he didn’t know if he was awake or not. He’d be afraid, but couldn’t quite tell where he was. He’d hear crashing metal and screams and there would be horrible burning smell stuck in his olfactory sensors, as if the sensors were malfunctioning. Glowing energon would be there, on the floor, walls, even the ceiling.

During those times, he wouldn’t move until first cycle.

This time, he’d woken up crying.

He wanted his origin. 

He wanted his genitor to make it better.

He hit the door with his servo and let out a demanding screech. When this brought him no result, he let out a wailing cry, this one conveying his misery.

The door did not open.

Prowl curled by the door, sensory wings flared wide and sensors dialed up to the maximum. If strained, he could sense his progenitor even through the thick door. He pressed closer; a spark signature beyond a closed door was the closest he would get.

It would have to do.

xxXXxx

Prowl had been left alone again. Quickrun had left without saying goodbye and Prowl hadn’t seen him at all during the current cycle! He was scared, lonely and felt terribly vulnerable in the empty house where only Quiet lurked as his company.

He wandered – carefully so he wouldn’t disturb Quiet – around the house, and came to the open doorway of Quickrun’s office. Inside was a computer he had not had and opportunity to inspect, since it had arrived only moments before things had changed.

Prowl slipped inside the office to inspect the computer console. It was new. Quickrun, as a high-ranking enforcer, had volunteered to test the programming on his free time to see if it would operate better and more reliably. It held an advanced AI, tactical suit, battle computer, advanced tracking system, powerful firewalls and many other features which were well suited for Enforcers, including vast memory for data storage. 

Prowl could feel curiosity tug at his spark, and he felt his wrist panels slid open, his cabling tumbling out. He had not downloaded or copied anything in long time. Quickrun had not held him and he had not felt the urge until now. But the large computer with its powerful processors and advanced systems beckoned him. If he could just integrate even some of what he could get from it, maybe he would be smart enough for his progenitor to notice him. Maybe he could show his impressive skills in, in calculating and information processing, and his progenitor would pet him on the helm and tell him how proud he was. Maybe he would sit down and let Prowl show him how he could solve strategy games or mathematical equations.

And maybe, if he showed his progenitor just how skillfully he took care of himself, maybe he wouldn’t be a burden. Maybe his progenitor would smile at him.

Maybe even hold him again.

Prowl raised his servos and laid them against the console, cables splitting apart to let the feeler wires search for an opening or connection port. There were several, and Prowl let both of his wrist cables slide in and connect him to the console.

The console turned on, firewalls springing up, blocking Prowl’s access. But Prowl had some practice trying to slip past protections, he had a habit of hitting his procreator’s walls the moment he connected and they had indulged his curious habit, allowing him to learn the basics of hacking. This alone would not have been enough, but Prowl already had a processor suited for the task, since he was analytical, smart and quick-witted. In addition, he had copied his progenitor’s tactical analysis unit as well as operation planning computer, which he now modified instinctively to suit his needs. As a sparkling, his processor was very elastic and completely different than anything the computer’s AI and firewalls had been developed to defend against. It could block an adult mind, but as an AI, it couldn’t adapt to a sparkling hacking it.

All these factors together allowed Prowl, as small sparkling, to break into advanced enforcer-grade computer. A feat no other sparkling could have accomplished. Finally in, Prowl set to investigate the systems inbuilt on the computer, copying, downloading and integrating as he went. Slowly, his processor was forced to expand, upgrade and advance as new connections were made and data ways added. Files were saved, organized and applied in use. More space needed to be made and Prowl’s processor was straining to make more storage space through connections and start coding lines for building new expansions. 

Prowl did not comprehend it, but he was slowly modifying his processor and systems to something non-standard. Sometimes, when sparklings with great affinity and raw talent plugged in to something entirely non-standard, connecting to something much more complex than their processors, strange things resulted. One of the more famous was a vosian sparkling, who had gained access and plugged in to a ground bridge. Somehow he had managed to integrate the downloaded data in to a warping devise. It allowed him to warp from one place to another, via similar system as the ground bridge. 

More often though, the result was absolutely nothing, as the download wouldn’t even initiate because the sparkling’s processor was unable to receive any of the data, let alone integrate it. And sometimes, something along the process went wrong, resulting in strange behavior, glitches and other severe processor damage. Because of this, procreators generally limited what their offspring could plug into, until they learned to assess what was safe to try and download and integrate, what was safe to analyze and what they should keep their cords away from. 

Adult cybertronians had fully formed and much more inflexible processors, limiting what they could download and generally only install (which made it an addition to their processor, not part of it), or in some cases integrate. This made it safer to plug in to different controls and for the adult to operate with it, using the source as a tool to their own processor. Still, even this had risks; every hardline connection ran the risk of viral infection. This was where firewalls came in; the stronger the firewalls, the safer it was to plug in. 

Prowl spent cycles plugged in to the computer. He had collapsed at some point, his processor so taxed it could barely maintain basic frame functions necessary for survival. When he finally could separate his mind from it, he discovered he’d developed a terrible processor ache, which radiated along his sensory network to his whole frame. He was venting heavily, primary vents whining and secondary vent heaving in huge gasps. His frame shook, his plating letting out soft tic-sounds as it cooled. His sensors recalibrated, crashed, powered up and calibrated again.

The world was confusing mix of sensory data, which could not yet be sorted as his processor was still finishing its new configuration and could not process yet. Slowly things started to settle and world came into focus. His thoughts started to clear and with new clarity, processing threads started to run. First thing he discovered, was a warning on his HUD that his tanks were low. 

Very low. 

He still had no reference point, but understood he was in danger and so twisted and turned, squirming and pushing at the floor until he got himself upright. He stumbled to the kitchen and to the energon dispenser. To his surprise he discovered whole new unit in his processor. 

Wireless connection. 

He connected to the dispenser as a user and drew an energon cube. He had no idea of what the different choices meant, but chose the one the dispenser’s logs identified as most often used. Powering up his magnets made red warnings flash in his HUD, but he ignored them and reached for the cube. He guzzled it down in one long swallow, letting gravity direct it to his tanks instead of actively swallowing mouthfuls. After the first, he immediately drew another, this time savoring it more when he didn’t feel like he was in immediate danger of shutdown.

His hunger taken care of, he opened the nearest cupboard door and clambered in, squeezing between two packages and powering down for recharge. His processor desperately needed to reconfigurate and defrag.

xxXXxx

Quickrun stared at Prowl as the sparkling played with some of his toy transformers. Judging by the sounds and quiet screams he was making, he was playing some traffic catastrophe again. Mechs and cars were sent flying and left piled haphazardly in piles. Slowly, Quickrun returned his gaze at the data pad in his servo, a report of Highlight’s deactivation.

Prowl had crawled to the street.

Highlight had deactivated while saving Prowl.

An odd feeling began to grow in Quickrun’s spark as he turned his optics back on Prowl. He did not know what the feeling was, but it felt cold. It was not hate; Prowl wasn’t guilty of his originators deactivation, but he was part of the chain of events that led to it. He rose from the couch and left the room, leaving Prowl behind.

He did not know it, but the feeling was the opposite of love.

It was the absence of love.

It was apathy.

xxXXxx

Quickrun became distantly aware of his frame’s need. It needed maintenance. He had no idea of when he last had truly taken care of his frame; it had been more than a few decaorns, probably at least several planetary rotations. He was approaching the point where he was receiving constant and urgent demands for maintenance on his HUD. 

Slowly he stood, moving to the washroom were the supplies were kept. As he cleaned and polished his joints and scrubbed the crevices with detailing brush, he remembered Prowl. They both needed to ingest oil, coolant and lubricant to replace some of the old. And empty out the waste tank.

Cybertronians generated very little waste, other than what could be dispelled along with warm air through their vents. But what little they generated, gathered in waste tank, which would have to be emptied manually into a recycling drain. He first took care of his own tank and then went to look for Prowl. When he walked past the kitchen he stopped to set out two oil cakes, a jug of coolant and two bowls of soup, which could be processed to produce lubricants to allow their seamless and quiet movements. 

He found Prowl in his room –where he seemed to be playing with several puzzles at once –following rules only he knew. He lifted the sparkling who let out a squawk, and tried to twist around to hold on to Quickrun. But Quickrun merely held the sparkling away from himself as he carried Prowl to the washroom. He shifted Prowl to one hand and leaned the sparkling on his hip to free one servo and reach into the cabinets and drawing out a bassinette. Prowl was still wiggling on Quickrun’s hold, sensory wings waving as he tried to twist around to better hold on to his progenitor. Quickrun had Prowl leaning his back against his side, an arm wrapped around and under Prowl’s chassis. Eventually Prowl gave up and contented himself to clinging to Quickrun’s servo.

When the bassinette was filled with warm solvent, Quickrun set Prowl in it and with brisk movement began to wash him. His touches were not comforting or loving, not in the way they had once been. Once he would have taken his time, the soft wipes of washcloth resembling soothing strokes rather than cleaning. He would have tickled and moved slowly and reassuringly. All this was gone from his movements now. Quickrun wasn’t rough, either. His touch was just as impersonal and mechanical as if he was cleaning an unanimated object or a drone. He was handling Prowl like a professional detailer would their clients. 

Completely impersonal.

Prowl squawked and clicked, not liking the treatment. Bath times used to be fun, but after his origin had gone, they had become oddly detached and they left Prowl feeling cold and…insignificant. Like he did not matter. Like he did not exist and his progenitor was merely moving through the motions.

Eventually Prowl sat placidly as his progenitor moved him around, thoroughly cleaning his plating and the protoform underneath. Afterwards Prowl was lifted and dried, his plating waxed and joints cleaned. All of this done as if Prowl were not a mechanism at all, but a merely a drone receiving basic maintenance.

When Quickrun was finished with other task, he turned Prowl to lie on his pack to reach the panel in his upper pelvic cradle. Prowl squirmed, not liking the task of emptying his waste tank. No sparkling ever did. Quickrun merely tightened his grip and moved the panel, removing the lid and then jerking pack in surprise as waste products exploded outwards, spilling over the sparkling’s stomach plating and legs, leaving splatters on Quickrun’s armor and the nearest wall. Prowl led out a pained whine as the high pressure that had gathered in his waste tank was suddenly released, straining the edges of the suddenly open outlet. He squirmed more and kicked his legs at the pain and discomfort, an unpleasant feeling crawling up at his stomach at what was happening. 

Quickrun did react to the sounds, petting his sparkling’s helm a few times and making quiet shushing noises. He did not remove his gaze from the strained outlet of Prowl’s waist tank, frowning in displeasure and knowing the tank needed more than emptying after being unattended for so long. 

He did not feel guilt at the neglect, merely irritation. It did not truly penetrate his processor that it was his responsibility to look after Prowl. He merely felt annoyance in having to deal with the task. He reached for the washroom cabinet, while he rolled Prowl on his stomach, causing the waste tank to leak more. The opening was situated at the bottom of the tank, so when a mech was standing, it would empty automatically. Sparklings did not often like the process, so procreators took care of it until the pain of a full tank got the sparkling to empty it. But sparklings needed to be thought how to –in order to be able to perform the emptying –and Prowl had yet to be thought it. He had suffered the painfully full tank for orns, not knowing how to ease the pain and unable to get help from his progenitor who mostly ignored him. Eventually he had gotten used to the feeling and had just ignored it.

Quickrun rummaged through the cabinet until he found a small hose, he drew it out and attached it to the solvent tap. He lifted Prowl to sit against him and set to first flush the tank with solvent and then to coat the insides with metal rich oil. The solvent washed away the near solid crud that had formed under the high pressure. The metal rich oil would strengthen the walls of the tank in case any damage had occurred. Prowl wailed and struggled the whole time, hating the slightly painful and very uncomfortable procedure. When Quickrun was done, the sparkling was hiccupping and peeping in sad resignation, knowing crying would accomplish nothing.  
Quickrun reached for the lid and attached it again to the outlet of the waste tank, getting more pained peeps from the sparkling. He slid the panel back and then set to clean both himself and the sparkling again. At some level his enforcer coding reacted to a sparkling’s pain and his touches were more gentle this time. But the easy love he had displayed for his sparkling was gone, and as such, his touch might have been gentle but it was still impersonal. Prowl still enjoyed the touch, basking in it while slowly calming from the unpleasant procedure. He very carefully saved how to empty a waste tank to his memory banks so he could alleviate the pressure before it would become as high, preventing what happened from ever occurring again. 

xxXXxx

“He was such an easy sparkling before,” Quickrun commented to Impact as the two sat in the kitchen over cubes of energon. Prowl was sitting in Impacts lap, but was concentrating more on the data pad in his servos than the mech holding him.

“He cries a lot more, and he’s often being difficult. I don’t know how Highlight did it, staying home with him all the time, alone. He wakes up during the night too, and refuses to stay in his bed.”

Impact reached over to pat at Quickrun’s shoulder guards. Quickrun tolerated precisely one pat before moving out of rage. “I’m sure it’ll get better. You both have a lot to adjust, Prowl most likely is having adjustment issues.” Impact consoled his friend, field reaching out with sympathy and comfort. Quickrun drew his in tight and nodded, but didn’t answer.

Prowl sat in Impacts lap and ignored both adults, merely taking the opportunity to enjoy a field that didn’t cause him pain to be near.

xxXXxx

Quickrun had fallen in deep recharge on the couch. Prowl had just finished his recharge cycle under the shelf and had been woken a breem ago when Quickrun had flared his field unconsciously to fill the whole room. It had been a painful way to wake, the field slinking over his plating like liquid nitrogen; so cold it hurt. It woke him with an aching spark and left him trembling.

If his own dreams did note wake him in distress, then it was Quickrun’s. 

Now, when his own emphatic grief had settled it allowed his own emotions push through – just as painful, but at least they were his own – and give some protection from the grief-laden, heavy atmosphere of the room. 

Cautiously he drew nearer to his progenitor, not wanting to wake him. His progenitor never hurt him, didn’t even yell at him, but Prowl had grown wary of him anyway. Quickrun’s mere presence was starting to feel more stressful than the long orns of loneliness and slowly Prowl had started to forget what it felt like to be held by him, and to be loved by him. He still yearned for it with his entire spark, hopeful for any sign of positive acknowledgement but he remembered it actively as more of an abstract feeling. It had been something utterly wonderful, soft, and warm, cherished by every member of his little family. But it had been so long since the last time he had actually experienced it.

He drew nearer when Quickrun showed no sign of ending his recharge cycle. Soon he stood by the couch, feeling waves and waves of the frigid field radiating form his progenitor. Prowl shivered, sensory wings trembling from the painful sensory data, but did not retreat. Slowly he crawled on to the couch, cautiously settling at the crook of Quickrun’s arm, against his side and chassis.

He could remember recharging here, safe and content. 

Tears escaped and optic fluid splashed gently on the armor of his progenitor. But even as Prowl cried, he didn’t let out a sound. He merely lowered his helm to rest against the dark chassis to listen as the spark inside rotated and hummed in its unique frequency. Unbidden, without his conscious permission, his data cables extended and sought the familiar ports. Covers slid aside from long habit and suddenly Prowl found his mind falling against Quickrun’s. He smashed against his progenitor’s firewalls, which were encompassing everything, leaving nothing for Prowl to explore. Prowl had not had the possibility to connect to anything but inanimate objects and his processor was yearning the opportunity to exchange data, to have the opportunity to develop and mature.

Prowl’s processor whirred to full power as he activated everything in maximum capacity and gave his vary best attempt to break through a grown mech’s firewalls.

A sparkling who was never given an opportunity to exchange data with another being with spark would never develop, or at the very least never develop normally. Prowl –like all sparklings –had an instinct which drove him to seek chances to connect, but his originator’s deactivation had pushed down his instinct and in some ways, slowed his development. In other ways, it had advanced it. 

Exchanging as much as he had with the computer, he had made huge advancement in logical thinking, calculating power and ability, comprehension and data processing. He was far behind in communication and abstract, artistic concepts. Most of all, his social intelligence, ability to understand emotions and express them was stunted as well. 

With Quickrun’s firewalls fully up and heavily enforced, Prowl could only get so much. He managed to breach the parts closely linked to emotical core, which still recognized him as Quickrun’s creation and acknowledged his right to be there. This let Prowl to have access to some data. 

He greedily copied and downloaded everything he could, instinctual need to learn, understand and develop driving him, then withdrew and disconnected. He felt his cables draw back into their housing as he settle more comfortably against the warm plating and started to analyze and sort the data ha had received. To his delight, he realized he had managed to download a comprehensive summary of Cybertronian speech and glyphs. The speech he had no use for, but now he could read. He eagerly set to integrate the data as well as adding some to reinforce his own firewalls. His processor’s integrity grew, and Prowl started his recharge protocol, something resembling contentment touching his spark.


	4. Crystal song

Prowl sat in the kitchen floor, holding an energon cube in both hands as he neatly sipped from it. His dexterity had improved greatly, as had his independence. He could now perform the necessary task to tend to his frame himself, he could soothe himself back to recharge when he woke, he new how to ransack the cabinets to feed himself. He moved quietly in the house, hoping not to disturb his progenitor. He had learned to fill his time and to tolerate the unrelenting and agonizing loneliness that had seemingly made itself home in his spark. No sound was heard. Their home stood, bleak and depressing, it’s occupants separated and slowly being strangled by Quiet. 

Quiet had made a home in the once so cozy and warm residence and Prowl had learned it would likely never leave. It took hold of the atmosphere until Prowl was afraid to walk too loudly in fear of disturbing Quiet. It felt like something terrible would happen should he break the silence. Quiet was cold and suffocating and made a clawing, desperate feeling rise up his in his throat. Sometimes it would cause his vents to lose their rhythm and he would shake and claw at his own plating, the floor, anything in reach, until it formed into an intense pain in his tanks and caused him to regurgitate his energon on the floor. Afterwards he would lie on the floor, curled into a tiny ball of pure misery as he clutched at his abdomen while he waited for the pain to end. When it did, he would get up, clean the regurgitated energon and then go to the washroom. There he would put wax on the scratches to make them fade faster.

Sometimes he would try and find his progenitor. If Quickrun was somewhere where Prowl could get to him, the sparkling would curl around any part of the progenitor available. Most often he would lie down on top of Quickrun’s pede and curl around the ankle. Quickrun often sat still joors at a time, which would allow him to nap and calm himself in the presence of his progenitor. Quickrun’s field was still painful and prickly liquid nitrogen that radiated in turns pain and apathy, but Prowl still recognized it as his progenitor’s. It both comforted Prowl and made his spark shiver and shrink. But the presence of his progenitor would ease the clawing, shredding feeling inside him and he’d lose the urge to bash his helm to the floor.

Quickrun still gave him no attention. He rarely reacted to Prowl’s touch. Sometimes he would recoil. Sometimes, when he saw Prowl had purged or was in pain, he would offer a few comforting touches. Prowl lived for those touches, but asking for them never resulted in anything. Prowl had once intentionally dropped from the high living room shelf in hopes of getting attention, but since Quickrun had not been in the room, he had not noticed. Prowl had cried on the floor until he fell asleep. He had come from the ordeal with dented plating, but not enough damage for Quickrun to notice.

Prowl had not tried again, deeming the possibility of being hurt badly but not receiving any help too high. His fear was that he would slowly deactivate from accidental damage or from falling ill with Quickrun sitting near, staring into emptiness.

There still were occasional visitors who would banish the Quiet for a few moments. Downjump and Lightstep would bring little treats and deserts, and would play with him. Impact would drink a cube with Quickrun and leave. Gamma and Radium would come, sit for a moment and then suggest they could watch a vid or some other program from the holoscreen on the wall. They would all sit in the living room for several joors, where the quiet wasn’t so painful. Prowl loved their visits when they happened; they would make Quickrun react and Prowl would get petted and crooned over. But visitors always left and as time went by, the visits became more and more rare. Quickrun slowly, almost unnoticeably pushed them a way with cold comments and unwelcoming field. In some occasions he would refuse visitors. 

Prowl sometimes sat at the window and kept watch on the street in hopes of seeing more visitors and being the first at the door so he could invite them in. Then it would be rude for Quickrun to turn them away.

Prowl had not left the house for several vorns now. He could barely even talk. His vocalizing was becoming rarer. Only when their visitors spoke directly to him, would Prowl offer one or two glyphs in return, always slowly and carefully pronounced. But outside of those few cases every once in a decaorn at most, he would let out barely a sound. 

Instead, he had continued to download programs. He had developed a habit of on occasion connecting to Quickrun when the mech was sleeping. In sleep, Quickrun’s field wasn’t as jagged and painful while awake. Prowl would curl close, sometimes to quietly weep, sometimes to sleep, sometimes he would plug into his progenitor. Quickrun did not keep as careful maintenance of his firewalls as he used to and every time Prowl managed to burrow little deeper and get little more data. 

He could and would never completely breach the firewalls. It would be a serious invasion of privacy and the mere thought turned Prowl’s tanks and caused him to shiver. But the parts where he had regularly explored before? Those he considered having permission to enter. He even learned some practical lessons for skills Quickrun had either planned or hoped to teach him one day and had created files even a sparkling could download. They weren’t actual memories –since only adults could actually download a memory file –but they were instruction-like information packets. One of them being how to clean one’s tank, with Prowl had bounced upon discovering it. Waste tank incidence was never to be repeated.

It was generally both safer and easier for sparklings to learn skills via being though rather than downloading the know-how and then learning to apply it. Generally, sparklings didn’t have the skill nor ability to access anything other than easy to reach basic programs. 

Usually only adult mecha could access another’s memory, copy it and maybe but it into use. Mecha could try and copy someone’s move in executing a skillful turn in a race, but without practice, they could never use it. And if they had no skill, then the memory would be useless. Sometimes the information would get corrupted when the viewer accessed it too many times, their own impressions corrupting it until the informative value was lost. This happened often when the information was completely new or hard to apply, which was why most mecha still needed to be thought. 

For mechlings, it was often more efficient to learn rather than wait until they could copy a memory of how to do something or to download a full data packet. This was the case with language programming. Sparklings usually learned to talk faster via imitating rather than waiting until they could download the program. Instead, by the time they could download the language pack, they generally had not learned to read or write and would download glyphs instead. As such, sparklings almost never needed to be taught how to read or write.

Prowl was desperate after a long time of being ignored –of not being allowed to learn and develop –so as any smart and resourceful sparkling, he adapted. His own processor grew and expanded, until it was literally structured differently to be able to cope with the demands Prowl set to it. And Prowl learned how to live alone while living with his progenitor. He learned what he needed to eat to stay alive –other than energon –learned to take care of his frame, how to read, how to scrawl glyphs, how to write on a data pad or a computer. Theoretically he knew how to talk, but the Quiet had stolen his voice and any desire to do so. Instead, he had learned how to access the data network. It had proven to be a goldmine of both information and distractions. 

Prowl set his cube down, drawing a data pad and one of his toys –this one a soft-metal cyberfox –near. He hugged the fox to his plating, and set the data pad in front of him. Both Quickrun and Highlight had enjoyed literature of all kinds and so their home was full of book files. Prowl had soon discovered that Quiet held no power when he escaped the world through written word of any kind. Even now –as Quiet pressed at his audials –he sought his escape. The book file he was currently reading was explaining light and reflection and their use in cultivating crystals. Prowl had seen crystals in pictures and he dimly remembered seeing some in crystal park where his origin had taken him. 

He set the data pad down and looked at the door. He wasn’t supposed to leave the house. He knew sparklings his age were rarely seen without their creators by their side, but Quickrun would never take him. 

But he feared what would happen if his escape was discovered. Would the enforcer put him in jail? He didn’t think so, sounded somewhat illogical, but what if? He didn’t known. 

Maybe if he went during the seventh cycle? During the hazy time when those who stayed late went to recharge but those who rose early were not yet still up? He could look up the closest park and the route there.

Decision made, Prowl set his wings in determined angle and set towards the computer, intending to prepare for his coming adventure.

xxXXxx

Three joors into third cycle Prowl had curled in the washroom amongst unwashed towels on the heating pad. It was warm and the smell had long since stopped bothering him. Beside, the dirty towels took some of the shine away from his plating, not that he had much of a shine in the first place even if both he and Quickrun had gotten better at making themselves presentable. If he were to move undetected, his white coloring would work against him and so any dirt he might gather would be in his advantage. 

When sixth cycle ended, he ended his recharge and crawled out. Quietly he crept down the hallway; Quickrun kept erratic hours even though he most likely would not care whether Prowl was there or not. 

Still, it was better safe than sorry.

But the hall was dark and quiet, no light shone under the closed doors or openings. Living room was empty, as was the kitchen. When he reached the entrance door he pressed himself against it, trying to sense any moving signatures on the other side. He would need his sensors at full power and he might detect adults before they detected him. Sneaking in Praxus was difficult, since Praxians were built with the most sensitive sensors out of all frame types. Seekers might have equally sensitive ones but they were only fully active in mid flight when their processors ran ten times as fast as normally. During those times, their frames were operating as a whole on different speed. Polyhexians and specialized Iaconians came closest, but nothing compared to Praxian sensory wings. They were only meant for gathering information, and they were inbuilt from the moment they onlined.

Prowl send a command for the door to open and slipped out for the first time since Quickrun had brought him home from the hospital.

And suddenly, Prowl felt for a moment like he broke free from quicksilver. He felt lighter, like he could truly vent for the first time in a long time. He stepped forward and moved swiftly in the shadows, trying to make his steps as silent as possible. For several stellar cycles he had tip toed in the housing and now he reaped the benefits. The very first steps he had taken had been quiet, near silent. And so were his steps now.

Wings wide and raised, trying to catch every sound, even the softest of air currents, even the dimmest of radiations. He greedily absorbed any and all sensations he could. And as he made his way down the quiet streets, he realized something.

He had left Quiet behind.

xxXXxx

It was different. The Quiet of outside. It wasn’t encompassing, it didn’t try to devour you. Prowl loved the gentle quiet of the sleepy time between seventh and first cycle. He craned his head back, looking at the shining lights of cybertronian night sky. He picked out the constellations he recognized and entertained himself with counting the distance between them and cybertron, the stars’ sizes and ages. It was one of his favorite games; he would collect data and use it to calculate probabilities, predictions and more values. For example, he remembered the absolute magnitude of Sanites, a red giant in Vivil constellation, and by flaring his sensory wings he could estimate the apparent magnitude, from there it was simple calculation to count the star’s distance.

Calculating things was Prowl’s favorite past time. He used his ability to predict Quickrun’s movements and actions based on the data he had collected and stored in his databanks. He could predict with fairly high accuracy when Quickrun would leave for orns, when for merely several cycles. He could guess when he would go on his quiet spells and what actions on his part could either prolong it or in rare cases, shorten it. When the quiet spells lasted long, Prowl new to be careful with his fuel, because sometimes it took a long time for Quickrun to order more.

But more than that, Prowl enjoyed statistics. The endless streams of data and probabilities, the calculations and algorithms called for his spark and it was in those numbers he found solace.

He turned the final corner and caught his first glimpse of the crystal garden he was heading towards. The crystals shone with dim blue glow, laminating the area with beautiful hue. Some crystals shone white, others burble, most were blue. The glow of crystals was only visible in the quiet darkness of the dark cycle as the strong light of their primary star was too bright for the subtler glow of crystal to shine through. 

Prowl stopped for a moment, straining to sense anyone else in the area, but the place seemed to be deserted. Quickly he scurried over the road, through the park gates and inside the garden. This close to the crystals he could pick out the gentle hum of healthy, growing crystals. Praxian sensory wings were the only frame feature that could sense the beautiful humming of crystals and very much the reason why Praxus was filled with crystal parks and gardens, both private and public. Praxians not only listened to the crystals, they made them sing. Crystal resonated, and nearly all Praxians could produce humming tones that could resonate with crystals, magnifying the natural hum so any mechanism could hear it and even coaxing more tones from them. Praxians called it singing with the crystals.

Prowl had been fascinated by the concept, and had spent countless joors counting and creating equations for sounds and tones different crystal would be able to produce. To him, the humming singing was mathematics.

He crept –optics wide with wonder –closer to a white blue crystal, which stood twice as tall as him. It had beautiful in shape and Prowl stopped just for a moment to calculate the angles, to form equations to describe the form of it. He reached out a hand to run it along the surface, his claw producing a subdued ring. A flare of sensory wings and he had the frequency measured and had started the calculations to make the crystal sing. He rested both servos on the crystal and hummed. But the sound he produced was all wrong, too many different frequencies smashed up and not in harmony. He frowned but tried again. The result was much the same. Next he attempted to produce a monotonic sound, but there were several mixed in!

Prowl sat back, chagrined to realize making crystals sing would be slightly more complicated than he thought. He sat forward again, sensory wings set in a determined angle. He would produce one clear note! And mind set on the task, he began to wrestle his vocalizer under his control. As breems turned into joors, Prowl’s vocalizing neared a sound harmonious enough to resonate gently with the crystal. It was weak resonance, nothing like the magnificent vibrations he imagined, but he had made progress. He would be back again, to try and make the crystal actually sing.

Like a specter, Prowl slid from shadow to shadow, staying out of both visual range and much wider sensory range of anyone who had the chance of detecting him. As a sparkling, he had much smaller spark signature but due to his unique processor and very limited contact to other mechanisms, he had a sensory range almost as vast as any adult. And because he rarely sensed anyone other than his progenitor –other than the occasional passing mech on their road –he picked even the smallest blips on his radar. Like any sense, when denied sensory data, his would as well seek to compensate by heightening his sensitivity. 

And so, despite being so very small, Prowl made his first, very successful venture outside his home for the first time in several vorns.


	5. Crash

Prowl stood at the window, gazing at the street. Every once in a while he would see a mechanism walk or drive past him. He had seen procreators with their sparklings and groups of younglings running and playing together.

He ached to join them. 

He pressed a clawed servo to the class, his wings flaring behind him, then canting down and back. He was sad, depressed, and tried his best to feel the sparks drifting at the edge of his sensory net, hoping to elevate the oppressing feeling of loneliness that was his constant companion. His progenitor had not returned for several orns. He had not dared to let anyone sense him during his outings.

He was so alone. 

There was nothing in his life but an empty house and suffocating silence. Cold nothingness met his sensors where he so desperately wished to feel something, anything, to break the loneliness that embraced him.

Behind him he could feel as Quiet hovered over him. His back plating itched from its presence as it inched closer and closer, until it was right behind him! Prowl couldn’t see it, but he felt it as Quiet reached its talons towards his frantically spinning spark. He could almost feel a feather-light touch on his plating.

Fine tremor traveled up and down his frame, but he didn’t dare to move, not even to twitch a wing. Instead, cold shivers wracked his frame and his vents stuttered, their previously even rhythm faltering. His vocalizer clicked once, twice, before it shut down, refusing to produce a sound. 

Prowl remained frozen by the window, one servo still pressed to the surface. 

He was terrified. 

The feeling had come so suddenly! He couldn’t move, could barely vent. If his vocalizer were still functioning he would keen. His spark swelled from terror and suppressed emotions, feeling like it would burst.

Prowl didn’t now what to do, how to ease his fear or to dispel the building emotional charge. Procreators taught their offspring by example how to manage emotions, how to control them, how to deal with them, how to recognize them. Prowl knew nothing of this.

And he didn’t truly recognize the feelings in his spark as nothing more specific than negative! 

And thus his loneliness, his grief, his love and anger for his progenitor and his fear abandonment, of being forgotten, of no one in this wide world loving or even caring for him, all this gathered in his spark, it swirled and surged, forming a agonizing mix of confusing emotions, and it finally, after vorns of gathering, reached the boiling point.

Prowl slid to his knees, vocalizer spitting static as powerful tremors spread over his frame. They had started as fine trembling, but had progressed to violent shakes that threatened to send him crashing down. Electricity razed over his frame, sparks jumping over the plating. His systems overheated, his HUD flashed warnings. 

His processor was running in loops; emotional protocols in absolute frenzy and logic center trying to make sense of the situation. His automatic systems started to malfunction: his vents heaved in uneven pattern, coolant lines were half blocked, half wide open leaving some systems to overheat, some cold. Energon rushed to outer secondary lines, dropping the circulating amount almost in half and causing several units in his processor to shut down. Prowl lost his sense of time, of where he was, his frame didn’t feel like his, his sensors were sending false data.

His frame was utterly out of his control. 

Pain flashed like draggers over his processor and sensors, his claws curled and sank into his own plating, leaving deep scratches oozing energon. His tanks churned, and he could feel half-processed energon making its way up to his intake. He purged, and the energon splattered over his plating and the floor. It burned when it got to his scratches, small hisses emanating as the acidic mix burned the unprotected metal.

Prowl was at the mercy of his frame, any hope of gaining control over the storm had long since passed. His panic grew, worsening the situation as his spark generated more emotional energy to discharge and glitch his entire frame.

Finally his processor deemed the storm too much, the damages piling up too great and the loop too strong to break. His systems seized up, his frame froze, extender and flexor cables constricting at the same time. His helm drew back in slow even motion, as if he was merely looking over his left shoulder, only it was completely involuntary. His mouth fell open, his servos curled towards his chassis. Then, the tension was released and his frame collapsed in a crash, sending his processor into hard reboot. 

Prowl had experienced his first crash.

The small frame lied unmoving on the floor for joors, crumbled where it had fallen. Congealed energon covered the front, fading burnt smell emanating from where electricity had burned it. 

Eventually Prowl stirred. His frame ached, joints creaked and lubricant began to flow properly again after it, too, had been disturbed as his automatic functions failed. Now as his limbs extended, the joints protested with creaks and grinding noises more at home from a frame few millennia older than his. His tension cables had been damaged by the strong mixed signals and now they ached and throbbed as they flexed and relaxed under voluntary motions. 

His sensory net was still trying to adjust from the crash; some input was too loud, making him flinch and some too quiet, making him strain the stressed sensor, resulting in painful feedback.

Sound hurt his audial, but his balance was off. His optics refused to focus properly and his sensory wings were sending erroneous messages. His processor was trying to make sense of the situation. His emotional center was quiet again, only processing tank-turning apprehension at what had happened as it solidified into scared helplessness.

What had happened? What did it mean? Was he malfunctioning? Was he in damaged?

His logic center wasn’t working properly and his memory logs had a timespan he had no recollection of. The memory files before that were corrupted and leaden with emotional content. He flinched away from those, scared of triggering another attack.

Eventually he became aware of his own frame and registered the purged energon covering his plating. It still burned at the scratched left behind by his own claws. Absentmindedly Prowl scratched at it and the burn became a cold sting. He deemed the sensation as bad as the burn and left the scratches well enough alone. Slowly he climbed to his feet and started stumbling towards the washroom. 

He had to clean his plating. It would help with the burn. Then he would treat the scratches, so they wouldn’t hurt anymore.

And maybe, then he would be able to make sense of what had happened and how he could prevent if from happening again.

xxXXxx

Prowl tapped at the crystal in front of him, considering as he listened to the chime. The soft vibrations caressed his sensory wings, sending pleasant tingles across the surface. He canted his wings forward to catch more of the vibrations as he repeated the tap. As he analyzed the frequency, his vocalizer started to emit a soft hum. He adjusted until the frequencies matched, amplifying each other. The crystal started to vibrate in same pace as Prowl’s hum and the sound grew, enveloping him and leaving his whole frame buzzing softly.

Slowly he lowered the pitch, keeping clear note and the crystal followed. The sound stayed even, filling the air in powerful humming. Prowl closed his optics, enjoying the sound. 

He had learned how to make a crystal sing. 

He started to raise his pitch, but when he reached the point above the natural frequency, he lost the crystal. The humming faded into the quiet of the dark cycle and Prowl was left frowning slightly. He still couldn’t get the crystal to produce a higher note. Let alone break the hum into several different notes.

A blip on the edge of his sensory range registered and Prowl spun around, wings flaring as he drew his field in, trying to suppress his spark flares. Someone was at the park! Prowl crept deeper into the park, hiding amongst the crystals, allowing their natural radiation to mask his presence. But at the same time it disrupted his own sensors. He still extended them, trying to catch who else was in the park. His sensors caught two mechs, and soon after he recognized them as enforcers. The two were on patrol. One felt familiar.

Prowl backed off, before turning and fleeing. He was afraid of being caught, fearing it would bring end to his roaming. The tough froze his spark and sent liquid nitrogen flowing through his lines. He would fade if he couldn’t leave the house, couldn’t escape outside when he woke crying and in panic. His spark would shrink into nothing and Quiet would devour it! All that would be left, would be a graying frame.

He wondered if his progenitor would notice.  
He feared to find out.

Xx

Impact and his partner Streetrunner were the unlucky slaggers on the last dark cycle shift. The streets were quiet as they patrolled, most mechs deep in recharge. They drove down the main street of Southwest Crystal residency district. It was quiet area, habited by bonded couples and their creations. As they neared one of the park entrances of Blue-Crystal Park, Impact slowed down and transformed. Streetrunner slowed down as well. “So, you want to take a stroll around the park? It’s quiet, so we might as well.” He suggested as he transformed and walked to stand next to his partner.

Impact nodded, optics staring at the entrance but not truly seeing it. “Yeah, it’s been a long time since I’ve last been here.” He walked to the entrance and just looked at the crystals, memories of times past filling the forefront of his processor. Streetrunner nudged his shoulder armor, teeking the sudden melancholy in Impact’s field. His own field flared questioningly, but it was reticent enough to for Impact to choose whether he wanted to explain his mood.

“I used to come here with Highlight and Quickrun. And when Prowl emerged we’d come here to play with him.” Streetrunner nodded his understanding. Quickrun had worked with them as an enforcer but after Highlight’s deactivation had been given leave. 

He hadn’t been seen after. 

“Have you heard from him lately?” Streetrunner asked, casting a hopeful look at Impact, but Impact shook his head sadly. Worry and sadness filled his field, sensory wings drooping at his back. “No, can’t say I have. He rarely even lets me in now and ignores most of my calls. And those he doesn’t are short. It’s like I’m just a stranger to him. ”

“How about Prowl?”

“Last time I was there he flitted around me but eventually just retreated to the other side of the room. Even he doesn’t seem to miss me anymore. He used to sit in my lap and play with me, but lately, he just looks at me.” Streetrunner set a servo on Impacts shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Sometimes mechs change when they lose their mates. Quickrun most likely had a developing bond with Highlight, it’s natural he might change when it was lost. That includes changes in social behavior and friends. Give him time.”

Impact drew his field in, not wanting to broadcast his grief. “I know, I can’t force myself on them.“ Impact gazed forlornly at the ground for a moment, before perking up slightly. “But I’ve heard rumors Quickrun might return to work soon. Maybe things will change for the better then. I’d like to connect with Prowl too.” Streetrunner gave a sad smile, but let encouragement fill his field.

“Let’s hope.”

The two walked deeper into the park, fields lightening as they took in the beauty of the surrounding crystals. Suddenly Impact’s sensory wings flared and his optics flared with sudden attention. Streetrunner was instantly more alert as well, flaring his sensory wings.

There! A small blip in their sensory range. A spark signature! But it didn’t feel like a adult mech, the energy they picked up was vastly different and characteristic to…

 

“Is that a sparkling signature?” Streetrunner cried out in pure astonishment. Impact shook his helm in disbelief. “How can there be a sparkling out at this time of the dark cycle?” They started moving towards the sparkling, when suddenly the signature started retreating and vanished from their sensory range.  
“What the-“ Impact rushed forward flaring his wings and extending his sensors, hoping to catch either the sparkling again or adult spark signature that could belong to the sparkling’s procreator. But nothing registered on their sensors even as they searched the park.

Eventually Streetrunner gave a slightly dismissive flick of his wings. “Whoever it was, they are gone now, and there’s nothing we can do here.” Despite his words, his wings were canted in a worried angle. Impact gave a frustrated wing flick, but he agreed with Sreetrunner. There was nothing they could do, the sparkling seemed to be long gone. There had been no distress and they most likely had had a adult with them. They would report it, of course, so others would now to keep a look out, but otherwise they would have to leave it be.

With last flare of his sensors, Impact turned away to continue his patrol.

xxXXxx

Prowl frowned as Quickrun left again. For several orns his progenitor had left at the start of the first cycle and returned at the end of the fifth. This pattern would repeat nine times, then he would stay home for three orns and then start again. Quickrun stayed home sixth and seventh cycle and recharged. He wasn’t gone for orns now, but neither was he home during light cycle. Most of all, he was predictable. Prowl had started paying more careful attention to Quickrun, had noted the more regular fueling, not pristine but cared for armor and repainted enforcer decals. 

Quickrun was working again.

Prowl didn’t now if this development was better or worse. His days were still long and lonely, Quickrun rarely acknowledged him, but it was easier to predict the comings and goings of his progenitor. And this, he decided, was preferable. He liked knowing where his progenitor was. And Quickrun seemed determined to spend the rest of his vorns working and recharging. 

Prowl was fine with it. He’d deemed himself old enough to venture outside during light cycle. As long as he pretended to be going somewhere, acted as if he had every right to be there, then no-one would stop him to ask where his procreators were. 

He was still afraid to approach other mechanism. He was afraid they would make him go home if they realized he was alone. But more than that, he didn’t know how to approach others. He had never spoken to a stranger, hadn’t played with anyone else in vorns, had never interacted with other sparklings. At least he didn’t remember interacting with other sparklings, which amounted to the same thing. He didn’t know what he would do with them.

He didn’t know how to interact with others at all.

He returned his attention back to his game and sent another car careening into the wall, the small crash it generated drowned under the one echoing in his memories.

xxXXxx

His servos shook. 

A fine tremble traveled along his plating, causing the datapad in his servo to tremble as well and blur the glyphs he was reading just enough to make them illegible. 

Prowl set the datapad down and held his servos in front of him, observing the near constant, fine tremor. He frowned and curled his servos into fists, but the shaking continued. Maybe he was low on energon even if he could not feel it. This didn’t feel like one of his attacks, he was too calm and clear headed.

As he stood, he felt his balancing gyros fail and he had to take a step sideways to compensate. His sensory wings flared and the additional input was enough to steady him. Yes, maybe he needed some energon. He sent a command for low-grade cube, and set towards the kitchen area. He activated magnetics in his palms, starting to climb the dispenser in order to reach his cube. Suddenly, his grip failed and he slipped. He hit his chin on the metal and disoriented, he lost what little grip he still had and fell off entirely, landing painfully on the floor. He laid there for a moment, stunned and confused. He had never fallen! His control over his frame had never failed enough to cause his magnetized plating to loosen enough to make him fall. 

But now he had.  
Something was wrong. 

More carefully this time, he retrieved his cube and sipped from it. But as soon as the energon hit his tanks he felt discomfort. He frowned down at the cube and tried to sip some more, analyzing the contents as he drank. 

It was just low-grade. 

This time the discomfort in his tanks bordered on pain. Carefully he set the cube aside and sat down. 

Something was wrong, and he didn’t know what to do. He could deduce the most likely reason for his symptoms; he was falling ill. Maybe he’d been exposed to something that was giving his systems trouble or maybe he’d caught a virus from somewhere and his programming was the reason. Either way, he knew falling ill generally only made you miserable and the best thing to do was to recharge in a place with optimal outside conditions so he wouldn’t stress the already stressed systems. But he also knew sometimes, one might need outside help.

Prowl felt a chill travel down his back. He was alone. If something happened, he would be completely helpless. 

Fervently wishing he’d be fine with some rest he set out to find a safe place to curl up at. He raided the kitchen for energon, coolant, oil, anything he thought he might possible need. After this, he curled up in the washroom, where the warming rack heated the whole area. He shut all unnecessary programs down and started his recharging protocols. Feeling ill, miserable and scared, he let his processor shut down.


	6. Illness

He woke up already retching. Energon burned as it came up and fluid ran down his cheek plating as optical cleanser was overproduced in his distress. Half-processed energon was everywhere, but he was too dizzy to sit up. His attempts only had him face planting in his own half-processed energon. It stung his optics and burned his olfactory sensor. Sobbing in misery he rolled, resulting in another wave of nausea and retching but no more energon. He vented hard, now lying in a clean patch of floor. His frame was sending errors, complaining of overheating and freezing at the same time, but his vents were at their highest setting, working in a distressed frenzy to cool his frame. His mouth was open, large gasps escaping as he tried to get his vents to calm.

His processor ached and his thoughts were sluggish, his cortex wasn’t running at the speed it usually did. His motor functions were misfiring, he discovered when he tried to move again. His servos trembled, his limbs moving in jerkin motions or not at all.

He hurt everywhere.

He felt absolutely wretched and fear surfaced when he realized he was absolutely helpless. There was no one to call, no one to comfort him. 

He could deactivate right here on the floor of the washroom. His life could end here.

Terror rushed through him, his trembling increased. Terrified sobs broke out, but soon they tapered in to high, weak keens as his strength failed him and actual crying proved to be too much effort for his overtaxed systems. Instead, long, drawn-out keens replaced them. They were high and even but lacking any energy; a mark of not a sparkling in distress, but a sparkling in serious suffering. When a sparkling cried their misery the keens were powerful, a demand for comfort, a cry for help. They held energy and intention. But Prowl’s cries were not meant to call anyone, or even be heard by anyone. They were an expression of his pain, and they were weak, breathy things. 

He didn’t know how long he cried there on the floor. His chronometer wasn’t functioning, like half of his processing units, and those that did weren’t working at full capacity or reliably. His thoughts drifted, half-formed ideas and fears mixing with broken processing threads. Dreams slid seamlessly into reality, the border between blurred. Memories and images combined into terrors that haunted him and made his spark wither in pain and fear. 

He would fall into fitful recharge, his recharging protocols malfunctioning, then he would startle awake and begin keening again with newfound strength. Twice more he threw up, and to his fear discovered fully processed energon. He knew the sight and smell of energon bled from an injury and it triggered a cascade of powerful memories: mechs in pain, frames laying unmoving on the road, moans of pain that set his tanks turning, his originator. Pain, terror and helplessness. 

This meant he was bleeding somewhere. This meant injury he couldn’t see. And if he couldn’t see the injury he could do nothing to it. He couldn’t even tell if it was still bleeding. Another powerless keen filled the air and echoed off the washroom walls. The echoes, for some reason, made him feel even more desolate. 

The energon had burned his intakes and damaged his vocalizer, causing his keens to break, his vocalizer spitting static and ultrasonic. He swallowed and shuddered at the pain it caused him. Pain raced up and down his frame, it creaked and groaned at every movement. His helm was pounding and his vision was breaking into pixels. With a moan, he curled up as everything went dark again.

xx

Next time he woke he didn’t remember where he was. His HUD was flashing nothing but angry red warnings at him. Confused at the amount of error messages he struggled to roll on his belly. As he changed positions his sensory wings managed to pick out a cube of energon near him. Clumsy, shaking servo reached for it. His first try missed, but on his second his claws scraped at the surface and he managed to draw the cube closer. 

Drinking was messy. He couldn’t quite lift his helm from the floor, his motor functions were misfiring badly, and he had difficulties comprehending what position his frame was in. Some of the energon ended up in his intake, more on his face and on the floor. As his strength failed his helm sank to the floor right in the pool of spilled energon, and since it was there in his reach, he started to lick some of the floor. When one warning on his HUD flickered off, he stopped, trembling from exhaustion and pain. 

After a moment he realized there was coolant near him as well. His frame was hot and was burning coolant at a much faster pace than normal; he needed more. Coolant was packed in small pouches with tubing inserted in it and as such, it was much easier to ingest lying prone on the floor. 

Half way through he fell unconscious again.

xx

Footsteps woke him. 

When he tried to move, he discovered he was able to lift his own helm, even roll on his belly with considerably less difficulty and even raise his upper frame to lean on his forearms. He listened, and recognized the steps moving down the hall.

His progenitor was back!

Relief coursed through him, powerful enough to make him slump to the floor again. Even as he struggled to raise his helm he cried out, a demanding screech for his progenitor to come and help him! 

The steps didn’t head towards the washroom and Prowl felt fear return. Would his progenitor ignore him? Desperation took the place of earlier relief and his cries turned more panicked, taking a pitch of a sparkling in terror. The steps stopped, and after a few breems of silence, started approaching. Prowl’s screeching tuned to crying, sobs of relief and misery falling from his abused vocalizer. 

The door was pushed open as Quickrun entered the washroom. He took in the scene with dispassionate optics, no emotions on his face apart from a small frown twisting his lip plates at the mess. An exasperate sigh left his vocalizer.

“Prowl, you’ve made a mess. Look at this, there is energon everywhere.” With those words he picked his shaking, crying and miserable offspring off the floor, stepped closer to the solvent taps and opened one. He adjusted Prowl so he was held in one hand, leaning against Quickrun’s arm plating and started rinsing him. He noted the elevated temperature, “You are ill as well?” He turned Prowl so he could wash his front, keeping the sparkling as far away from his frame as possible and not drop him, “Then you should be in berth, not on the floor of the washroom”, he reprimanded his creation as he washed energon from between Prowl’s neck cabling. 

Prowl continued his crying, even as it tapered off some. He was in pain, he was scared, but at the moment he wasn’t alone. His progenitor could help him. 

Quickrun finished rinsing Prowl and set to dry the plating. Then he gathered the energon, oil and coolant packages from the floor and carried Prowl to his room. “Recharge, you will feel better when you wake.” He said, setting Prowl down to lie on the berth. Prowl felt panic start to gnaw at his spark again. Was his progenitor leaving? Quickrun couldn’t just leave him like this? Without helping him, offering him medicine, or taking him to a medic? Prowl struggled to sit, grasping desperately at his progenitor’s servo. He sunk his claws between armor plates and clicked and whirred frantically. Quickrun just frowned and set to free his servo. 

“Stop that, you are being unreasonable. You are merely ill, it’ll pass.” Prowl was getting more and more frantic, scared of being left alone when it was clear to him something wasn’t right, he was too ill, he was too weak and disorientated, in too much pain to just recharge. Something was wrong with him. His desperation to reach his progenitor activated a unit that had been thus far redundant. His vocalizer clicked a few times and then, for the first time in his life, Prowl spoke at his on initiative, with more than a single glyph.

“Please, ‘genitor, it hurts.” The voice was reedy and thin, but the words were pronounced near perfectly. Prowl’s first true sentence.

“Prowl, you are ill, it is natural you experience some discomfort. Now settle down, you are being unnecessarily difficult.” And with those words Quickrun finally separated himself and stood up. He walked to the door without looking pack and closed it behind him, ignoring the calls for him to come back, to help, to not leave. 

Prowl laid stunned on his berth. His progenitor had ignored him, had left him. Too shocked to react, he stayed there on his berth, staring at the door and waited for his progenitor to return.

He didn’t.

Xx

The illness ravaged through Prowl’s systems for several orns. Quickrun had enough reason in his processor to make sure Prowl refueled, he even gave Prowl coolant and emptied his waste tank, which was filling up as the illness disturbed the normal frame functions. The whole procedure went without a single protest from Prowl.

But he didn’t give Prowl any relief form pain, and when Prowl was completely insensate, frame ravaged by illness, he didn’t call for a medic. He left Prowl lying alone in his room, with only periodical checks cycles apart.

Prowl fought for his very life for those orns. If treated, his illness would have passed quickly without complications. Without treatment, he was left to suffer an exhausting battle. He fought to ingest the energon given to him, he fought to vent enough to cool his frame and prevent his circuitry from melting, he fought the feeling of suffocation when his vent clogged and their rhythm failed. He fought to get his frame to make even the slightest of voluntary movements. 

But despite his battle to remain alive and functioning, the illness left it’s mark. His vents took damage, leaving him with a life-long penchant for overheating in extreme situations, it took from his very spark and this, together with the malnutrition he had suffered in the past, would leave his frame smaller than his coding had originally intended him to be. It was not one thing, but a combination of things that cascaded into a serious enough issue that resulted in stunted growth. This was additionally affected by the fact that Prowl would be vulnerable for illnesses for several vorns. Indeed, he would suffer through several infections during his coming vorns. This, more than anything else, ensured that his frame would be, down to his very protoform, always weaker than expected. 

This, however, was not the most serious consequence from the illness he suffered. No, the most devastating consequence of all was due to the crash he had suffered previously. The pathways it had created were cemented in to an error. This error would cause him to crash when s situation became overwhelming. 

What had originally been a suboptimal solution to protecting his spark and developing personality from excess emotional discharge before he matured enough to deal with it on his own became a permanent glitch. It was not easily triggered, and would not likely affect his life devastatingly since his processor was flexible enough to work around it, but it was a weakness, and a stressor at any moment would threaten to make it a destabilizing error. 

And the fact that he had to suffer through the ordeal alone, that his progenitor was capable of merely watching his suffering dispassionately, did more damage to his ability to trust others than vorns of isolation.


	7. First Level Official Education, generally known as School

Quickrun shifted the reports on his desk, pulling the forensics report out and settling down to review it again. They were making headway with the investigation and he was starting to feel confident they could pin this on their suspect. He raised his optics from the report to the door when an entrance ping disturbed him. He frowned at the interruption, sensory wings flaring to identify the intruder. Impacts spark energy registered and he sent a command for the door to open. Impact walked in with few reports in his servos.

“Isn’t it time for you to turn in already?” He asked as he set the data pads down on the desk. “You’ve been working from light to dark ever since you started. Doesn’t Prowl miss you?”

Quickrun frowned as he reached for the datapads. “Not really, he’s fairly independent when he’s not being difficult.”

Impact smiled. “Taking after his progenitor, is he? I bet he’s just as stubborn too! Just wait until he reaches his late youngling stage, you’ll have your hands full then.” He laughed good-naturedly before continuing. “He’ll be old enough to start schooling soon, isn’t he? He’s already a second decavorn as a sparkling, isn’t he?”

Impact gave a wistful sigh. He hadn’t seen Prowl in over a decavorn now. Quickrun was still distant, and any visits in to his living space were not welcomed. Last time he had seen Prowl, the sparkling had merely greeted him with a quiet voice before retreating to his room. Impact assumed he had been visiting too rarely and Prowl viewed him more as a stranger. Or maybe Prowl was already entering the stage where he found adults boring. Impact missed the little sparkling who used to curl up in his lap.

Quickrun had gone quiet, a thoughtful frown on his face instead of annoyed one now. He realized Impact was correct, Prowl would soon be at the age where he should start official schooling. Cybertronians received their formal education in two stages, the first offered basic education for all and was very general in nature. It started in a sparkling’s last decavorn before they upgraded their frame to that of a youngling. 

The upgrading wasn’t dramatic, and happened generally with the help of a medic, but it started a series of changes which resulted in the ability to transform, receiving interfacing protocols and other more personalized adaptations to one’s frame. This was why, half-way through their maturing, the younglings were expected to pick a direction for their function. They would enter their second stage of schooling at the end of their younglinghood, this one offering the possibility to specialize in different areas and to modify the upgrades to suit that function. 

A quick calculation revealed Prowl was indeed due to start his education within a decavorn. But Prowl had shown some advanced intelligence and as such, it might be prudent to just roll him in now, when he was thinking about the matter. Prowl might be a bit too young, but if problems arose, they could change the plans and postpone it. Yes, it would be more efficient to start immediately before he forgot. This would have the additional advantage of having Prowl out of the house every once in a while, which would allow him to have some solitude in his own home, instead of being driven outside to get some time away from his offspring. And it would give Prowl something to focus on, so the sparkling wouldn’t bother him.

Having decided, Quickrun focused again on Impact. “You are right, I believe it would be best if Prowl would start his schooling with the next group.” Impact drew back slightly, startled by the abrupt comment. “Already? I thought he’d still have a few vorns…” Quickrun nodded, already half ignoring Impact and focusing instead on the needed forms he would need to fill and arrangements he would need to make in order to get Prowl enrolled with the next class of sparklings.

“Yes, he is still a bit young, but he has proven to have rather advanced processor and as such I believe he would benefit from an early start.” He drew up the needed forms on his console and gave a dismissive flick with his sensory wing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make some arrangements.”

Impact drew back, well versed to the abrupt dismissals and knowing better than to argue, “Yeah, all right. I’ll be going then. Say hi to Prowl from me.” His farewell was ignored, as expected. Quickrun was already immersed with his work.

xxXXxx

“Prowl.”

Prowl startled, sensory wings jerking in shock at the sudden call by his progenitor. Elated at the show of acknowledgement he hurriedly abandoned his data pad and scrambled to his progenitor, wings set in questioning cant.

Quickrun gave no further reaction, he didn’t welcome his creation with a soft touch or smile, or even welcoming teek of his field and for a short moment Prowl berated himself for such foolish hopes. Instead he remained attentive, thought much more subdued in his expressions, field again pulled in tight, long since practiced in ignoring the now painfully empty field near his.

“I have enrolled you to Praxian educational center for first stage schooling. You will begin next vorn when the next cadre is starting.” Thus having said his piece, Quickrun retreated. Prowl was left puzzling over the sudden turn of events. He was to begin his schooling? But he was still several vorns too young! But if his progenitor had already arranged it…slowly the idea sunk in and excitement began to fill him. He would finally be able to truly start learning, he would have better access to information, to have someone actually teach him, he would get to leave the house!

And maybe…maybe he would even be able to make friends.

His whole frame gave a quiver of excitement and his field flared in happiness. His monotone existence would finally change. He would have a chance to interact, no longer would he have to hide from others when he dared to venture outside. 

Feeling truly hopeful for the first time in as long as he could remember, he settled down, engine giving soft purrs of contentment.

xxXXxx

The courtyard was full of screaming, running, crying, laughing and just loud sparkling. Prowl was completely and utterly overwhelmed. He hid behind Quickrun’s thickly armored legs, sensory wings flinching from the abundance of information. His processor was already aching and he hadn’t even reached the classroom! Prowl was having second thoughts, but the thought of already returning to that dreary house again gave him enough strength to press forward. Quickrun was ignoring him, patiently waiting for the assembly to starts so Prowl would be assigned to a classroom, for the teacher to introduce himself to the procreators waiting with their younglings and then Quickrun could finally leave.

A pair of sparkling ran close to Prowl, chancing each other and Prowl flinched back, their movements sudden and startling. 

This really might be too difficult for him.

xxXXxx

The cadre of sparklings that made up Prowl’s classroom were marginally calmer and quieter, if only because they were fewer in numbers. His teacher was a tall mech with several shades of blue making up his coloring, with some purple mixed in. He had low-set sensory wings and warm optics. His designation was Sequence, and he had an uncanny ability to keep track of his cadre of sparklings, what they were doing and how to keep each of them in line. Prowl liked him.

His fellow classmates, on the other servo, he was not sure he liked. They were unpredictable. They moved suddenly, and he was startled every time. His sensory wings would flick with irritation and surprise every time one of them dashed somewhere mere centimeters from him. And he didn’t understand them. Their behavior, it was all so strange to him. They would state things that were obviously not true. They would argue loudly without having proper argument and then get frustrated when they didn’t get their way. And they were so physical. There was touching, bumping, pushing, even hitting. And, even worse, he’d seen one of the sparklings spitting. Prowl sifted carefully further away as two sparklings started an argument on whose originator was better. 

Ridiculous. 

They were all in the wide courtyard, but this time the “all” meant his class, not the entire cadre of sparklings starting their schooling. They were given the chance to explore the courtyard as well as get to know each other. Many had soon immersed themselves in games and imaginary plays, which Prowl found rather baffling. 

Mostly because they made absolutely no sense. 

But they were all running and screaming and shoving and tugging and Prowl just pressed himself closer to the wall he stood by. He had never seen chaos like this. Never heard so many voices yelling at once. Oh, he’d seen many sparklings at the crystal parks and playgrounds, but not this many!

“Hey,” oh, primus, one of them was talking to him! Thus far, Prowl had avoided any interaction with the others outside of class, but this time it seemed unavoidable. Prowl stared at the other, who’s chevron was as red as his own, only shorter and not near as sharp. And he was orange. Red and bright orange. Prowl was getting a processor ache just looking at the other.

“…uh”, he stammered, unsure of how to react. Wide optics blinked at Prowl. Sensory wings flicked and waved as the other regarded him with open curiosity. His field was reaching at Prowl’s and teeked with curiosity and eagerness.

“You’re supposed to say ‘hi’ back at me.”

“…hi?” A wide grin spread on the other’s face, his field flaring in excitement. He bounced excitedly on his pedes as he exclaimed; “I wanna play!” The sparkling grabbed at Prowl’s hand without waiting for any response. “Come play with me!” 

Prowl was tugged from his safe wall and dragged to the playground, in to the mist of others. 

“Let’s play tag! I wanna play tag! Who’s gonna play tag with us?” Prowl’s wings flinched back and down. He was right next to the orange sparkling! It was rude to yell right next to his panels. But even as Prowl squirmed, other’s began to enthusiastically yell their agreements and soon it seemed half of his class was to be part of this game of tag. Prowl was looking around, cataloguing those who participated (quite many), where they were (everywhere, surrounding him, constantly moving) and what he knew about them (very little). If he was to participate he would plan how to do this, he’d be the absolute best at playing tag.

“Tag, you’re it!” A servo slapped at his shoulder plating, startling him. As one, all sparklings dashed away from him, screaming as they scattered in every which direction. 

So, he was supposed to catch one? All were older, taller and faster than him, this would require more than fast running. His processor, which was equipped with much more advanced units than any sparkling had a right to have, and modified from enforcer-grade operating systems, whirred to top speed. It identified targets, started tracking their movements and analyze the patterns. Then it started predicting where they would run next. 

Prowl let out a growl of excitement and shot after them. His engine was revving, his field extended and pushed at the others’ as they ran around him. His spark was racing in his chassis. Calculations flew on his HUD as he drew equations and probability calculations from his databanks. He selected a target and started cornering them. The sparkling he was targeting was screaming with laughter, not threatened by the smaller sparkling trying to chase and catch him. He ran after his peers, rounding one of the climbing structures, he would run around it and loose his chaser-

Prowl had predicted this. He sprung at the other form the top of the structure, having leaped at it with two strong pounces. Claws extended he crashed helm first to the other, sending them both skidding on the ground. His claws dug in, not damaging the plating put grasping tight at the edges. With a roll he ended on top and shoved the other down.

“I caught you!” but his elation at his clever tactics turned into confusion as the other’s field slashed at his, teeking of fear, pain and anger. Soon after the other scrunched up his face-plates and begun to cry. Prowl was confused. He had done what was expected of him, why was the other crying and mad at him? He looked at others in confusion, but saw frowns and unsure looks.

“Prowl.” The stern voice of Sequence made him flinch. Sequence was not happy with him. Servos sneaked under his arms and he was lifted off the crying sparkling. Sequence set him aside, his sensory wings giving a clear indication to stay put as the teacher began to soothe the cries. Prowl shuffled in place, confused and upset.

What had he done wrong?

Sequence hushed and calmed the frightened sparkling in his arms. When the crying had been reduced to quiet sniffling he turned to Prowl. The small sparkling was shuffling his feet, looking upset and unsure. Sequence sighed deep, his vents flaring as air buffeted out. His field reached out as he teeked Prowl’s field. He felt hesitation, confusion and upset. Prowl withdrew his field slightly as he teeked his teachers, but upon only sensing calming feelings he stopped trying to draw it in entirely. 

“Prowl,” said Sequence, still firm but gentler this time. “Do you know what you did wrong?”  
Prowl raised his optics from where he had been studying his pedes. He shook his head for ‘no’. 

“You hurt Dipper. You are not supposed to jump like that on others, falling like Dipper did hurts. Hurting others is not allowed.” Prowl’s optics widened more and then returned to the ground. His wings drooped and his field withdrew again. Sequence frowned, Prowl had clearly not understood he was doing something wrong when he had crashed at Dipper, and it felt wrong to punish him for it.

“I understand you didn’t realize what you were doing. I will not punish you this time, but if you hurt others again, this time with intention, the consequences will be severe. Am I understood.” Sequence’ voice was heavy with his authority as he set the rules for future, his expectance for obedience clear and non-negotiable. Prowl’s optics were wide and his sensory wings flattened in submission. He had heard and understood, his posture spoke for his agreement and submission.

Sequence nodded, before he set Dipper down, tuning him towards Prowl. “Now, apologize to Dipper and we will forget this.”

Prowl glanced quickly at Dipper, then pack down again. Others were staring and it made him feel very uncomfortable. His plating flattened to his frame, and his shoulder hunched. Wings quivering, he tried to find his words, which seemed very difficult all of a sudden. After few false starts he finally managed a quiet “I’m sorry”.

Dipper sniffed one more time, nodded and then turned away, running to his friends to resume playing. The other sparklings dispersed as well, but there were no more joyful cries of “Tag!” filling the courtyard. Prowl was left standing there, his words stuck in his vocalizer and feeling the terrible loneliness creep up and swallow his spark. Quietly he retreated to his safe place by the wall and sat down, looking as others played.

Sequence watched him go, optics sad and wings drooping. He vowed to try and include Prowl better in their activities in the following orns. The sparkling had been so hesitant to join others, and when he finally did, something like this happened. 

He was awkward and had trouble understanding other’s reactions and expressions. He didn’t pick up when others got frustrated but merely pushed on, which led to arguments. The one group project they had done had not ended well for Prowl’s group. He also seemed to have trouble with the more imaginative plays and was so very literal. Prowl didn’t really use exaggeration and got upset when other’s used them, as well as vague expressions. Sequence sighed, Prowl was a strong personality and seemed to play to his own rules in interactions, but with some help, Sequence was sure he could get Prowl integrated well.

xxXXxx

Sequence paused after his instructions to observe his class. They assignment was rather difficult but they had advanced well in their studies and Sequence felt it was time to give them their first real challenge. He’d permitted them to ask help from adults around them or work together on it. The task was mathematical in nature and required understanding of several concepts in physics. It was not cumbersome in a sense it required extensive research, rather a processor for numbers. This was also why they were allowed to ask adult mecha, the only requirement then was to know the practical uses of the calculations as well as at the very least some understanding of them. Most of the class was already absorbed in the task, often in small groups with heads bend together as they gestured at their educational pads and at each other.

His gaze snagged on Prowl, whose educational datapad was closed and the sparkling was gazing out of the window. The sparkling looked bored and gave no indication he was about to start the assignment. Sequence frowned, he’d been sure Prowl would be one of the first to finish; the sparkling was clearly talented in the mathematical area. He walked closer and crouched beside the sparkling. “What is it, Prowl? I would have thought you’d like this assignment. Why aren’t you working on it?” 

Prowl looked at his teacher, mouth forming a disappointed pout. “I already finished it. It wasn’t any challenge at all. I got exited when you told me this would be a challenging task, it’s been so boring during the class this far, but then this was just another boring assignment.” Prowl’s wings drooped in very clear sign of his upset. Sequence was at a loss of words for a moment, “Ah, would you show me your assignment? I could grade it now if you are ready?” Prowl pushed his pad towards the teacher before turning to stare at the windows on other side of the classroom. His field radiated his unhappiness at the situation. Sequence activated the educational datapad and read through the calculations, Prowls short but very precise explanation on the subject and a considerable list of practical uses. It seemed the assignment truly had not been any challenge at all.

Sequence stood up and pulled another datapad from his subspace. It was a reading pad on the subject of practical mathematics and Sequence had borrowed it from the library purely for his own entertainment. Now he gave it to Prowl to see if the sparkling was able to read it, and whether he could comprehend it.

“Here, why don’t you spend the rest of the class reading this instead? And next orn, I would like you to complete a set of exams to test your aptitude in different areas. This would allow us to tweak you curriculum enough so you won’t be quite so bored anymore. How does that sound?” Prowl’s sensory wings were already perking up as he reached eagerly for the datapad. As soon as he read the title of the first page his field filled briefly with elation before he settled down, soon absorbed completely in the task. At the very least Prowl seemed to enjoy it, even if he didn’t understand it.

“If you have any questions, you can ask me.” Sequence assured Prowl, but received only a brief acknowledging flick with one wing. Prowl was a quiet sparkling and whenever he could, he preferred to communicate non-verbally. 

He was very shy, still, even after all the effort Sequence had put to coax him to make friends. Furthermore, Prowl often ended in arguments with other sparklings and a lot of the time Sequence had to explain what exactly Prowl had done wrong and how the other party saw things. Prowl often felt remorseful when he realized he had hurt someone and he didn’t repeat his mistakes, but neither did he truly seem to learn from them. But Prowl had a kind spark and when Sequence pointed out how he could be more considerate, he followed the instructions or at the very least tried to. Often he seemed frustrated when he could not apply his knowledge in a slightly different situation than the one used as an example, since he lacked the instinct needed to adapt. Prowl seemed to have a very poor grasp on social interactions. 

Prowl might actually do better with older younglings, since by then the younglings could modify their own behavior to fit with the one they interacted with. Sparklings in general weren’t the most skillful in interactions, so the mix between them and Prowl often resulted in hurt feelings and sharp words. Younglings, on the other servo, already had some actual interpersonal skills and this would allow them perhaps understand Prowl slightly better and reduce the misunderstandings. 

In addition, Prowl didn’t really play at all. All the games he participated had clear set of rules and he rarely joined others. Prowl clearly preferred processor stimulating activities such as strategy games, puzzles and reading non-fiction. This, too, might receive more acceptance among older mechlings.

Sequence had for a moment been slightly concerned of this behavior, but Prowl didn’t truly avoid interaction, he spoke well and had no problems with Sequence. He was smart, agile, self-assured and independent. He merely had some difficulties with social interactions and didn’t have much creative imagination.

Tomorrow Sequence would test just how smart Prowl was, exactly, and would then place him in a more appropriate class. Interacting with older and more mature sparklings might be good for him.

xxXXxx

The datapad sat innocently between the mech and femme. Both were quiet as they tried to process its contents. Sequence had started Prowl on the aptitude test. The answers were automatically analyzed and graded and the results downloaded to a datapad, which now sat between Sequence and the head of educational center, a femme by the designation of Vidol. The datapad contained additional information on the evaluation of Prowl’s abilities by two of their senior teachers.

The results were astounding.

Prowl was intelligent. In fact, he could be considered a mathematical genius. His could understand and grasp concept that were for some mechs impossible to comprehend even if thought. He was clearly self-thought and some of his thought processes were completely unique to him. Prowl was clearly developing an ability, an unique frame or processor modification which could not be reproduced by even the most talented of engineers or medics. Prowl’s processing power had the potential to form into something completely unseen before.

Prowl’s intelligence was clearly concentrated on logical thinking. His understanding of subjects such as art, literature and music was above average but not much more. Prowl’s general ability to process assured he could comprehend and memorize what he read, but for example his ability to understand poetry was that of a youngling. Above average but not much else. But, his ability to learn was another aspect of his advanced processor and both mechanisms were sure Prowl could adapt to a much more challenging environment.

“In terms of anything even remotely involving mathematics, we could send him straight to secondary education.” Sequence finally commented. Vidol nodded, as she picked up the datapad to review the results. “Yes, but he has much to learn about history, science, economics and most of all philosophy, psychology and literature.” Sequence nodded, “Yes, but some of those subjects he has never even studied. He will learn fast.”

“Hmm-hm, we could place him with younglings, who study the full range of subjects. I doubt he will have difficulties with anything that requires logic or critical thinking, and those that don’t, he can receive some additional help with.”

Sequence tapped his chin in though. “Yes, he’s been understandably bored in my class. I think we should proceed as fast as we can and find an appropriate class for him. He seems to be a bit down and I’m hoping this will cheer him up.”

Vidol nodded, setting the datapad down again and resting her hands on her desk.“I will hold a faculty meeting tomorrow, we’ll find a place for him. You should contact his procreators and discuss this development with them.”

Xx

Quickrun had no opinion in where Prowl was placed as long as he had something to occupy himself with. As such the discussion was short and to the point. Prowl was removed from alter class and placed in septimus class. 

He had skipped six classes and even if the current one did nothing to challenge his genius in everything mathematical, it did give him a challenge in all other subjects. This, added to material loaned from university of mathematics, kept him content. He still avoided personal interactions as much as he could and preferred solitude, which was now exacerbated by the fact that his classmates didn’t have much interest in a sparkling. And, since Prowl’s personal skills were as lacking as they were, it left his interactions straightforward in a way that was usually off-putting to others. His actions were awkward and he lacked any charisma. This lead to teasing, shunning and Prowl saw it best to leave the others in his class alone, even if his teacher did try his best to include him.

Positive result was, his interactions in certain situations were less problematic. When the interaction had a clear goal, such as completing an assignment or teaching others, he had much fewer difficulties. His social skills improved enough for him to be less overbearing and aggravating. In fact, since the youngling were generally more accommodating in their interactions, Prowl was well liked as a partner. His work ethic was strict but he produced good results had was very through in his research. 

But despite this, he made no friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Around this stage I had to pull out a book on child psychiatry, so Prowl's issues have some basis in reality. But, I'm not building this on personal experience or anything, and it's not a text-book example of anything. I'm just trying to make it a little bit more realistic.
> 
> Well, it'll probably become a bit more obvious later on.
> 
> Also, thank you for the review Squirrelybits! And Guest :)


	8. Explosions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time units, finally:  
> 1 cycle has 6 joors (about 30 min or so)  
> 1 orn has 7 cycles and 1 cycle is relative to a maybe 3 h. Orns are longer, relatively to our days.  
> 1 decaorn is 20 orns (think of it as 2 weeks)  
> 2 decaorns makes 1 planetary rotation   
> 2 planetary rotations makes 1 quarter. A planetary rotation is equivalent to a month and quartex is equivalent to a season.  
> 4 quartex equals 1 vorn  
> 1 decavorn is 20 vorns.
> 
> So, a mech is a newling (infant) for 2 decavorns, sparkling and younglinghood take 3 decavorns each. So, they reach adulthood in 160 vorns. After which they are about as much adults as 18 years olds, so not very...

Vorns passed and Prowl was no longer a sparkling, but newly developed youngling. His transformation units, mainly his T-cog, had started to develop as well interfacing systems, which was the hallmark after which mechlings were called younglings. First upgrades were installed, such as sub-space and additional transformation units to help with the process. All younglings were thought how to use their new sub-spaces and developing comm. signals, which also finally had mature support systems allowing them to work. Their frame started to shift from automated functions to carefully controlled ones. Their HUDs were no longer flashed warnings connected to unpleasant sensations but exact information they could actually use. They began to diagnose and analyze their frame functions, and adjust them according to their needs. For example, now they could direct energon flow to units, which needed it the most or even cut off energon flow to damaged areas instead of waiting for the automated functions to react. They began learning how to observe and write simple coding, even if actual coding changes in their processor and cortex were preferably left to medics who specialized in it. The risk of errors was considerably lower that way.

Prowl, being significantly younger learned this in bits and pieces, some when if became possible and some when it was thought. He did not even know he had developed his communication unit until he was sent to attend a class teaching how to access them. But when new window opened on his HUD, he often very quickly figured what it was and how to use it. His development had started early, which had evened the difference between him and others slightly as his frame was catching up with the others’. It made him feel just a little bit less like an outsider.

His education was a combination of self-studies and what he was thought during lessons meant for younglings over a decavorn older. He had been given access to both first and secondary level educational databases and his knowledge of practical and theoretical mathematics, physics and statistics, again both theoretical and practical, grew in leaps and bounds. At the same time he worked to get his general knowledge to the same level so he could continues advancing in his studies. 

He’d even begun to entertain thoughts of what he would like to study when he could choose his function. He’d discovered and interest in combining statistical analysis and probability calculations with strategic planning and execution. Iacon had an educational program where he could study both mathematics and tactics. If he studied hard he might receive a subsidy and have the chance to study outside of Praxus. The education itself was free like all levels of education in Cybertron but living in Iacon wasn’t. The prices were high and while students received a small allowance from the government it would not cover the rents in Iacon, or other living necessities. With a subsidy he could apply to student housing with minimal rent. And he would be able to study tactics, strategy and mathematics at the same time, which was not possible anywhere else. In addition, the job opportunities in Iacon were different from Praxus since Iacon was the very center of Cybertorn. If he worked hard, he might even have the chance to work for the Prime. 

Prowl had his dream and he had his calculation. He had his teachers who were eager to teach him and his classmates who tolerated him and his social blunders.

What he did not have, was anyone to confide in. He had no one to hold his hand when his spark was sent into a frenzy, causing his systems to crash and ending with Prowl waking on the floor, achy, cold and miserable, covered in purged energon.

The attacks were no longer as common as they were when he was a sparkling. Once he was able to leave the house and interact with others, his emotions had stabilized somewhat and the attacks had lessened if not stopped. But if he had difficult time at school, or an argument with someone he was more likely to have an attack. Luckily, he’d never had one outside the housing, he wasn’t sure he could stand the humiliation.   
On rare occasion the attack were not as bad. He’d been researching the data network when he had come upon an article with completely puzzling context. It had described the evidence some mech had collected on the sparks he believed had not moved on to the well of allsparks and to Primus, but had for some reason lingered and tried to interact with their environment. The mech had called them phantoms and had been completely convinced of his finding. Prowl had found the article confusing and had tried to fit it into data he knew of sparks and their behavior after deactivation. The subject had been somewhat distressing and he had felt sudden pain, before coming online sprawled on the floor. 

Sometimes he would find himself on the floor, disorientated after trying to comprehend something that he just couldn’t grasp, usually with an emotional component involved. Those instances he was much less achy and he’d never purged. Because they never had caused him harm and because they were rare and not completely out of his control (he merely needed to abandon the processing thread), he didn’t much bother to think about them. 

What he did learn was the definition of pseudoscience, and shunted things belonging to this category to a folder specifically meant for illogical nonsense, where they did not cause any trouble to his processor. The completely emotionally driven ones were much more scarier and often left him scared and unsure. In those moments he felt like he might not wake up next time, his spark felt like it was exploding and he feared it would. 

Just explode and dissipate. 

Sometimes when he felt his emotions approaching the limits of his control, he would run outside. Physical extortion sometimes helped him to shed the excess charge. He couldn’t wait for his t-cog to finally form, because then he could race. He could channel all his emotion to the motion and speed and leave them behind. As it was, Prowl would fly down the street, fast and light on his feet and just run until his frame was straining, until some of the claustrophobia inside him eased at the freedom of movement his fleeing run had granted him. Often, he would end up near a crystal garden, where his spark would finally settle. He would hum at the crystals and let the gentle caresses of the returning vibrations caress his sensory wings.

If he closed his optics he could almost pretend his procreators were gently petting his wings. He would hold this thought close to his spark, the memory of kind touch and endless loving attention. 

He swore he would one day gain it back. Somehow, someway, he would find someone who would pet his wings and hold him and love him. His spark rebelled, spitting images of Quickrun’s cold optics and clinical, rare touches, of the uncaring attitude of his classmates. Trusting someone, being close, loving would break him like his life with Quickrun was breaking him. He should never let anyone near. 

But then another memory would surface, of being so warm and safe, memories of love. And a thought would rear its head:

He would rather love one more time and fade should that love betray him than never love anyone ever again.

He didn’t know where he found the strength to hold on to this thought, to believe in it, but it stubbornly stayed. Again and again he would try and convince himself to not let anyone near, to protect his vulnerable spark, but something in him, something that had grown and developed under the unconditional love from Highlight and Quickrun when things had been different, that something would hold on to the hope. It refused to let go and refused to yield. And so Prowl found himself unable to harden his spark completely, found himself dreaming of being loved again.

But not now, not yet. His spark ached too much, he was too afraid. He couldn’t approach anyone. Didn’t even know how. When he was older, more confident. When he was someone. Not the useless little youngling he was now. Powerless to help his creator who’s spark had all but faded. Helpless to cause nothing but grief to his remaining procreator. Enough grief, so no love remained in his progenitor’s gaze when he looked at Prowl.

He brought nothing but trouble. He was useless, worthless, unloved and unliked. 

One day he would be great. He would hone his skills so that he was useful, so that he would be worth something. He would be so good, he would be considered invaluable. 

And when mechs respected him, for his skills and his contributions to society, maybe one of them would find it in themselves to love him.

xxXXxx

The courtyard was loud and full of younglings as they enjoyed their break from studying. Games were played in groups and screams of excitement and joy pierced the air as the younglings worked to rid themselves of the restless energy they had developed during the early light-cycle lessons.

Riverbeat smiled as he watched the younglings. He always thought their happiness was infectious. He leaned against the wall and flared his sensory wings, observing the younglings and keeping track of every single one.

Suddenly a very different kind of scream pierced the air.

A scream of pain.

Riverbeat sprung from the wall, instantly pinpointing the source as his wings informed that two younglings were involved in a fight. He did a double take. Yes, this was an actual fight between them, with intention to hurt, not just a loud argument. He identified the pair as Prowl and Rip. The pair did not surprise him, but the apparent ferocity did. Rip was a charismatic but slightly arrogant mechling and as such seemed to rub Prowl the wrong way. Prowl on the other hand….Prowl had already had several instances of aggression. He was generally calm, but over the last vorns he’d begun to experience what Riverbeat could only call tantrums. He’d be calm, and then in a click he’d be worked up in a rage of the likes Riverbeat hadn’t observed in other younglings. And the only way to calm Prowl down had been to remove him from the classroom entirely.

Decaorn ago, Prowl had upturned his school desk and everything on it in a fit of rage. The trigger had seemed insignificant and Riverbeat had called a faculty meeting over Prowl’s behavior. Uncontrollable rages in a youngling who otherwise behaved very well and was rather sweet in nature? It was not normal. But before this, Prowl had never acted violently towards others, only lashing out with sharp words or at inanimate objects.

Riverbeat finally got within optical rage and his spark shuddered at what his more precise optics showed him. He’d known the two were fighting and striking at each other, had heard Rip’s panicked and pained yells and Prowl’s snarls, had even picked out the vicious lashing of both of their fields. But he had not expected this.

Prowl was using his claws.

Both had energon on their plating and some was on the ground. Other younglings were scattering every which way, fields rich in fear, shying away from the two furious fields. Rip was scared, and lashed out with all his strengths, trying to protect himself from the smaller clawing, hissing youngling. He didn’t have any claws, but he was bigger and stronger than Prowl.

Riverbeat rushed forward and snatched Prowl from under his arms. He lifted up the little youngling, freeing Rip. Prowl didn’t seem to realize who was holding him, he squirmed and clawed at the servos holding him, his field hurt at were it touched Riverbeat’s. Riverbeat brought the youngling closer to his chassis, trapping the clawing and scratching servos in his own. He curled around Prowl, reducing the frantic trashing to mere squirming. Whispering soothing words at Prowl’s audial, he tried to calm down the youngling.

But Prowl didn’t hear him, he kept growling and snarling, then screaming when he realized he couldn’t get free. He was completely and utterly out of his mind. Riverbeat realized there was no calming him down. He commed several of his colleagues to come deal with Rip and others while he stood, still holding the trashing, screaming youngling in his arms, and walked inside the building and into the first empty room he found. Then he sat down and simply held Prowl, firmly but not enough to hurt him. He crooned and hummed, engine purring, swaying slightly. Prowl screamed and cried, he trashed, clawed and kicked his stabilizers. This went on for joors.

Eventually he tired.

Riverbeat kept soothing him, and eventually his restricting hold turned into comforting embrace. Prowl clung to the warmth and safety as his screaming turned into sobbing. Riverbeat started to pet the trembling sensory wings, gave gentle caresses to back plating and helm. Prowl cried and clung to Riverbeat, but finally even his cries quieted.

Eventually Riverbeat drew back. He cleaned dried fluids from the tired face while he coaxed the story out of Prowl.

It had been nothing more than a normal argument that had escalated. Prowl had been frustrated, because he couldn’t get the right reactions from Rip. Rip had most likely seen Prowl’s behavior as rude and overbearing, spoiling for a fight and had reacted accordingly. Prowl had not wanted to fight but did not know how to de-escalate the situation, nor had he realized he should have backed off.

And then Prowl had just snapped. He didn’t like hurting others, lessons learned during his sparkling vorns had been well remembered. But he had completely and utterly lost control of his actions, his emotional center having taken over completely. The result had been explosive and Prowl was now upset and deeply ashamed of his behavior. He was also scared, it seemed. Prowl’s very nature was quiet and reserved, such show of uncontrollable emotions was deeply disturbing for him.

Riverbeat knew the faculty meeting, scheduled only few orns away, would not be enough. School counselor was not enough.

Prowl needed a psychiatrist.

xxXXxx

Prowl shook, huddled under the couch. He hadn’t needed to hide likes this since he’d first upgraded from sparkling to youngling. And he was already approaching his second decavorn of younglinghood. But the cycle’s event’s had been traumatic enough for him to need to hide from the outside world. Riverbeat had called his progenitor to his educational center and had explained the situation to Quickrun before outlining how they would proceed. Prowl was forwarded to psychiatric who specialized in younglings. He would go thrice in a decaorn for evaluation period and then they would decide how to proceed. At the same time, Prowl would be moved to a special class, were the student-teacher ratio was smaller. The curriculum was more diverse and as such could be adjusted for Prowl to avoid boredom. At the same time, there would be more adults to keep and optic on him and stop a situation if need arose. Violent behavior would not be tolerated.

The way they had stressed that both frightened and comforted Prowl. He was afraid of what they would do if he lashed out again, but on other servo he was relieved someone else would be there to handle the situation if he could not.

He didn’t know what to expect from a psychiatrist, but he was apprehensive of the new adult he would have to spend so much time with.

He let out a choked sob when he thought of Quickrun’s reaction. 

His progenitor had showed no indication he cared much at all. He’d been calm, if somewhat irritated of being called from work for this. He’d been mostly uncaring of what Prowl had done, merely asking of how they would proceed. And when they had left the school, he’d ignored Prowl entirely. He’d taken Prowl home and returned to work without saying a single word to his creation.

Prowl would have preferred yelling. Pit, he probably wouldn’t have minded if Quickrun had hit him. Anything would have been better than being so completely and utterly ignored.

But Prowl knew his progenitor’s spark had lost all it’s ability to love. 

Highlight had taken all of Quickrun’s love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys tend to externalize their symptoms and as such ADHD behavior and tantrums are common psychiatric symptoms. No matter the issue, they generally manifest as ADHD and aggression. Girls internalize more, which is why, in a child psychiatric ward for <12 years, there are a lot more boys than girls. This changes when we get to teenagers. I guess girls can hide their problems longer. 
> 
> Prowl's been having symptoms for a long time, but he managed to hide them. He has PTSD, and his crashes are a bit similar to panic attacks. Anyway, Prowl internalizes a lot, but when he hit younglinghood he started to externalize. Boys often already have symptoms in pre-school, but when they reach school, it often escalates. Of course, these are only generalizations, girls can throw violent tantrums as well. And boys get depressed, panic attacks and anorexia. Some things are just more common with one sex.
> 
> Please notice that I am not speaking from long standing experience, and I'm sort of applying my knowledge here anyway to a different being so I'm taking some liberties. (Prowl's crashes have no "literal translation")


	9. Close shave

The waiting room was cheery and homey, considering it was part of the Praxian Medical Centre and thus part of a government building. And government buildings were not know for their tasteful décor. 

Prowl fidgeted nervously, hunching on his seat and tucking his sensory wings. There were datafiles, games and toys scattered around the waiting room, but Prowl had no interest in them. Prowl knew Quickrun had already seen this psychiatrist, knew there’d been a long discussion about him and what to do with him. There had been already one session with him present as well, where Quickrun had done most of the talking. The psychiatric by the designation of Greenpiece had asked about Prowl’s life, how he had it at home, if he liked school or had friends or hobbies. Prowl had been mostly quiet, his answers short. He’d been too nervous to say much, but had opened up when they had started discussing his studies. Greenpiece was kind and patient and didn’t push for answers. It was perfectly fine if Prowl didn’t want to answer and they would change the subject. To his delight, Prowl had discovered Greenpiece to be well educated in wide variety of areas, and Prowl had enjoyed their discussion on theoretical physics. 

But this time he would be alone with Greenpiece. Quickrun had left him at the door with instructions to wait in the waiting room after the session until he came to pick him up. Prowl felt awkward and wished dearly he could be somewhere else.

“Prowl? You can come in now.” Called Greenpiece with his distinctive, warm voice. The sound of it felt pleasant when it hit his sensory wings and Prowl calmed down a bit. He liked Greenpiece. He might be a strange adult and Prowl did not trust strangers, or anyone in general, but at least he liked this mech. Prowl got up and readily walked inside the room, which was about as homey and cozy as the waiting room. There was a desk, but also several cushioned chairs around a small coffee table. In the corned was a box of toys. The self held datapads that ranged from fiction meant for first decavorn younglings to medical texts. Few games were stacked on top of the self, again ranging widely in complexity. 

Greenpiece followed Prowl’s gaze at the games and smiled, field reaching out with warmth. “Would you like to play something? I know you’re smart and I believe I have a few games you might enjoy.” Prowl nodded and Greenpiece pulled few boxes from the stack. Some were completely mechanical in nature, few were digital and some were combinations. Prowl selected a completely strategy based one that was played two-dimensionally. It limited the possibilities but allowed for a physical board. Prowl liked the pieces he could move by hand.

Together they set up the game and while they played, Greenpiece coaxed Prowl to talk with him. They talked more about school, what he liked and didn’t like, what he wished for the future. What were his dreams. By the time they reached their third game (Greenpiece lost every single one) Prowl was able to discuss his tantrums. He talked about what he felt before and after (horrible), and what went on in his processor during his tantrum (nothing very coherent). They even contemplated on what could be the cause. When the joors were up, Prowl felt better about coming there alone. Greenpiece was nice and Prowl felt he could handle these discussions. He bid his goodbyes and left the room, his sensory wings notably higher.

xxXXxx

Greenpiece sat pack in his office chair, contemplating on his patient case. Prowl and Quickrun were a small family of two with no close friends or family. Quickrun had been sparked for his function, but has not kept much in touch with his mentors –a bonded couple –after his second century. He’d been mated to Highlight, also a sparked mech and despite being officially unbonded Greenpiece suspected they’d been half-way bonded, only unknowingly. 

There were many ways to form a bond between mecha and not all were clear decisions. When a mated pair decided to officially bond they would forge a bond between their sparks. Breaking it was highly traumatic and if it happened unexpectedly –like in case of deactivation –it usually led to deactivation of the remaining mech. 

Intentionally forged bond was one mechs were highly aware of. It allowed clear communication between the pair both verbally and emotionally. Some transmitted only emotions and few words, some bonded couples could have long discussions over long distances. Some bonds also transmitted memories and sensory data, and some very rare cases had transmitted skills between the mecha. The last variation was half hearsay and half fact. The documentation was few and of bad quality.   
The strength of the bond dependent entirely of the mechanims who created it. What the bonding pair wished for it to be, how deep they wanted it to be, how in tune they were with each other, how close their spark frequencies were. Some bonds were a warm flutter at the edge of their sparks and others more like a short wide tunnel where both sparks could clearly ‘see’ each other. The wider the tunnel the more could be shared. The true limits of a bond were unknown, but spark-split twins could synchronize themselves to act as one spark. Gestalt bond acted similarly, the sparks were so in tune their frequencies would nearly match when combined but the bond generally diminished to a warm flutter when separated.

But then there were also the unintentional bonds. As mechs went through their long existence, they created unconsciously bonds between each other. Usually they were loose and snapped when mechs went their separate ways, without any real trauma, merely feelings of loneliness and sadness. 

But some bonds, some were very strong. Some were even comparable to intentional bonds. A mated pair who spark-shared regularly and were as deeply in love as Quickrun and Highlight had been, would have had some sort of bond between them. Quickrun didn’t seem to be over his mate’s deactivation at all and most likely the half-bond break had been highly traumatic. Especially since it had been missed this long and left untreated. There wasn’t truly any way to treat a bond break or bond trauma, but often the right kind of support and the presence of loved ones helped to soothe some of the pain. A spark could be reminded it still had sparks dear to it here, and lessen it’s longing follow the other to the well.

Or, that was the theory. If the deactivation or bond break was know beforehand, steps could be taken to prevent worst of the trauma. In deep enough stasis, the kind that was only step away from deactivation, the spark-output was so weak it didn’t sense the bonds connected to it. If a bond broke in this stage, the violent backlash could be avoided and when woken, the mecha would be devastated by the loss but the actual damage could be avoided.

For Quickrun, this wasn’t an option anymore, but he could still receive help. Best idea would be to recommend Quickrun to seek therapy himself in addition to family therapy he and Prowl would need.

From what he had heard from both Prowl and Quickrun it seemed that Quickrun was distant and cold towards his creation. Prowl was suffering from attachment disorded, which explained his inability interact with his peers and form friendships. The whole issue was not helped that Prowl was intellectually much more mature than emotionally. He was very independent and stubborn, likely a combination of his personality and lack of attention. Prowl’s attempt at seeking attention he was so sorely lacking seemed to be his desire to excel in his studies. 

His tantrums were clearly a product of his emotional disorder, which in turn was a production of neglect and isolation. It seemed that Prowl had not had any friends during his sparkling years either and Quickrun had not taken him out often. No wonder Prowl didn’t get along with others.

Greenpiece suspected as well that Prowl was suffering form post-traumatic stress from the accident which resulted in Highlight’s deactivation. It was common comorbidity with attachment disorder and would explain some of Prowl’s symptoms. Prowl was overly cautious and flinched when surprised. In addition, Prowl had hinted at nightmares even if he stated he didn’t often remember what they entailed. Nightmares were normal for sparklings but at youngling stage, even if Prowl was only at his first decavorn, they should normally become rare. Prowl’s had continued, even if they didn’t prevent him from getting sufficient recharge. 

Prowl was also small for his age. Inspecting the files, Greenpiece noted Prowl was never supposed to be very large, but Prowl’s frame was lighter and his height shorter than was to be expected. Likely one more symptom from his post-traumatic disorder. Probably after Highlight’s death Prowl had developed wrong eating habits. From what he had gleaned from Prowl, the youngling didn’t refuel regularly and ingested anything but energon even more irregularly. Sometimes sparklings could have severe enough issues with eating that they stopped growing entirely or even lost mass. If Prowl’s eating habits had been disturbed since the accident, then it was no wonder it affected his growth.

Greenpiece tapped his stylus against his datapad. He’d been meeting both Prowl and Quickrun for almost a vorn now and he believed he had enough understanding of the situation to set Prowl’s diagnoses and begin treatment plans. Prowl had no need for coding adjustments, a treatment form with many side effects and generally reserved for adults only, since he was surprisingly functional. 

In fact, considering the long list of severe issues Prowl had; social difficulties, anxiety, aggression, eating difficulties, sleeping issues and depression, it was truly astounding Prowl was functioning as well as he did. It was almost unprecedented. Greenpiece supposed it might be the result of Prowls unique intelligence. 

It also helped Prowl was endlessly curious, a feeling that had remained surprisingly strong, and this drove him to try understand mechs around him. When interacting with others, Prowl didn’t often understand them and couldn’t truly form back-and-forth interaction but he would later try and understand what the other had thought, with varying results. His teachers had unknowingly helped him greatly to cope this far, because they had often taken upon themselves to explain other’s point-of view. Prowl had difficulties emphasizing, but had stubbornly developed what little he had. 

In other words; Prowl, despite having difficulties as severe as he did, had passable skills in mentalization. He even made valiant attempts to understand why his progenitor acted the way he did. This understanding had protected Prowl’s own self and left him more self-assured and self-confident than Greenpiece believed would be possible. Prowl didn’t see his own worth and neither did he view himself loved. In fact he did blame himself for Quickrun’s behavior and most likely for Highlight’s deactivation as well, but at the same time he also understood that he was not the sole reason for any of it. And Prowl knew his intelligence made him valuable in a sense. In fact, it seemed Prowl’s entire sense of self-worth was dependent of his ability to perform. He saw himself as useless as a person, but valuable as a student.

Prowl had managed to create several self-protective measures; his independence, his though patterns, but also his trips outside and to crystal parks. Greenpiece found it amazing how Prowl had learned to Crystal Sing. He was too young to have done it for long, since Quickrun never took him there but he apparently had developed some real skill according to what Prowl had spoken about it. 

Greenpiece though Prowl would benefit from proper instructions for crystal singing. Preferably in a group so he could practice his interactions at the same time while doing something he was confident in. In addition, cognitive therapy would suit him best, since he put so much effort into analyzing things. Family therapy would be the most essential since it addressed the root of the issue and Quickrun should be recommended for individual therapy to deal with the trauma of loosing his mate. If they all worked hard, the situation would hopefully settle enough for Prowl to have his remaining younglinghood happier and more stable. He desperately needed love and attention.

But if Quickrun was unable to provide this, they would eventually have to remove Prowl from his care. This was, however, would be the absolute last resort. Greenpiece never ceased to be amazed by the unconditional love and loyalty mechlings held for their procreators. To forcefully come between them usually only resulted in more problems.

But then, all procreators should feel such unconditional love as well.

Reality just didn’t always meet with the ‘should’s.

xxXXxx

Riverbeat observed the younglings bent over their work, a sea of sensory wings gently swaying in the air as the younglings worked in deep concentration. His sensory wings canted to take in one youngling in particular. 

Prowl had been attending therapy for a few vorns now, and it had done wonders to his ability hold his temper. He was still aggravated easily, and when his optics flashed and sensory wings shot up, others got vary for a good reason. But the incidents hadn’t escalated into physical violence in a long time now. Prowl had thrown a stylus three decaorns ago and had had a spectacular screaming match with Lippa last decaorn, but with Riverbeat’s help the situation had calmed down fast without any more complacations.

Prowl had been moved back to Riverbeat’s class after just over a vorn in special class when his tantrums had eased and he didn’t require constant supervision. Riverbeat still went through every argument and disagreement Prowl had, and the discussion could last half a cycle, as Riverbeat explained why others had said this and done that and how did they see the chain of events and what they had felt during it. Prowl worked so very hard to see more than his own point-of-view, to emphasize and understand. 

And it had paid off. At this rate Prowl would have a good control over his emotions. Of course, being the shy and reserved little youngling that he was, Prowl had iron control on all of his emotions. He had never cried, and even his smiles were scarce and small. 

Riverbeat frowned. Now that he thought about it, he’d never heard Prowl laugh, and his smiles were quick and fleeting, if genuine. He wondered what diagnoses Prowl had, what his issues were. The only information they had received was that Prowl was receiving treatment in the form of some therapy but not why or how Prowl’s issues would affect his school life and performance. The information was limited in order to protect Prowl’s privacy and to avoid stigma, but Riverbeat wondered if this was truly in Prowl’s best interest. 

An abnormal reading registered in his sensory wings, one youngling had slight fluctuation in their temperature. Quietly he rose and walked closer, sensory wings up and flared, running a scan over the youngling in question as Riverbeat tried to find the root of the issue.

“Prowl? Are you feeling alright?” Prowl was leaning against his desk, wings limp against his back and optics dimmer than normal. He canted his helm to look up at Riverbeat and after some deliberation shook his head. His temperature would rise, then his fans would cycle higher and lower it, the vents would wind down and the temperature would rise again. If his vents were not maintaining even rhythm, it meant something was off. Prowl’s field was more subdued than usual, strangely lethargic. It seemed his systems were working harder and somewhat out of sync.

Prowl was ill.

Riverbeat knew Prowl had had an ample amount of absences due to illnesses and as such this was not an unexpected event. Riverbeat ran a hand over his back both in comfort and encouragement to get up.

“You are sick again, Prowl. Come, it’s best we take you to school medic. We’ll call your Progenitor and have him pick you up.” Prowl nodded tiredly and placed his assignment of the day in his subspace. Then he rose, wobbling a little but steading himself against Riverbeat. They had attracted some attention from other younglings but firm stare from Riverbeat reminded them to concentrate on their work and not stare. Prowl’s field eased a little when the stares diminished, his posture relaxing minimally as he let himself be steered out of the room with tired placidity only ill younglings could express. 

Prowl and Riverbeat walked slowly down the quiet halls. Prowl’s movements were still characteristically silent, he barely made any distinguishable noise even for Praxian sensory wings to detect. But his movements lacked some of the ease and fluidity that was usually present with the silent gait. Riverbeat had noted that Prowl’s movement always seemed as if they were carefully thought of, each step flowing with understated carefulness and fluid smoothness. Easy but economic. 

The name ‘Prowl’ suited this youngling well. He walked like a turbofox when it was stalking it’s prey. Prowl even had the scary ferocity of a cornered ‘fox when he lost control over himself.

Riverbeat reached out a hand when the little prowler seemed to be prowling straight towards the wall. He guided the youngling to walk in straighter line as they neared the school medic’s office.  
He’d sent a ping to inform the medic Triage of their arrival. The resulting ping had entailed a permission to enter the exam room straight away.

“Triage?” He called as he ushered Prowl to sit on the examining berth. “I’m here with Prowl.”  
Triage walked through a smaller door on the other side of examining room. 

He was an average sized Praxian frame with red crosses, which marking him a medic, painted on both shoulder plates. Otherwise his plating was almost entirely blue, unusually uniform but rather calming in it’s hue. He canted his wings forward to run a preliminary scan even as he picked up a medical scanner. 

“Let’s see, Prowl, first-decavorn youngling, you upgraded fairly early, didn’t you? I remember your last exam. Let’s see now, you have history of illnesses, nothing to require further medical attention, but fairly frequent.” He sat on a rolling stool and rolled to Prowl even as he scanned available medical history through his medic-specific connection with the med-terminal. This allowed his to peruse the patient information across his own HUD and check things instantly and middle of a medical procedure if needed. 

Taking his first proper look at the youngling he began categorizing what he’d discovered from the moment he walked in. The sparkling sat hunched and with lowered sensory wings and dim optics. Definitely fatigued, and sure sign the youngling really was ill and not wishing to skip lessons. Temperature rising and vents uneven, most likely infection but some old damage to the vents was possible. He frowned since Prowl’s sparse medical records didn’t have any mention of damaged venting systems. He had a long line of marks in his ‘Psychiatry’ –folder, but those were locked and required permission or medical need to open. Prowl’s field was lacking the typical energy of a healthy youngling, which again could be blamed on the coming infection. It could indicate a more serious of an infection, even possible toxic energon syndrome. But it could also just as likely be from an infectious agent that affected field specifically, in which case it wouldn’t be dangerous but would cause fields fluctuations for some time.

Prowl’s engine was idling slightly higher but still well within proper parameters and his fluids flowed without problem. He connected a medical scanner to Prowl’s medical port, which had been uncovered the moment Triage had withdrawn the datacord. 

What a clever little youngling, and brave too.

Data began streaming across the screen. It showed some misalignment of different systems that were supposed to run in alignment, such as his coolant circulation and venting. There was slight elevation of nanities and the self-repair was showing some strain. He couldn’t identify the reason for infection yet. Most common would be viral infection received in data transmittance, which was as common occurrence as getting dirt contamination while touching hands in greeting. It could throw a mech’s systems completely out of sync but generally was completely harmless. It mostly tried to scramble data and as a result system controls got a bit scrambled. One felt awful until the data could be resorted. 

There were also the frame infections such as rust-infection or joint lock, which could be severe but often sorted out with correct treatment and careful monitoring. Rust-infection could sometimes turn nasty, unresponsive to any treatment and slowly spreading until whole frame was covered, in which case it generally proved painfully fatal.

Then there was the toxic energon syndrome, which was dangerous and even if one survived it, it would often leave behind different repercussions.

Prowl’s systems reported to be in working order if stressed and straining a bit. No red flags. Still, better be careful.

“How are you feeling, Prowl?”

The youngling scratched a hand over his faceplate as he frowned, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “Processor hurts, my whole frame aches. And I’m tired. I don’t feel good. My tanks are feeling odd.” His engine gave a discontent whining noise he wouldn’t vocalize and his field reflected his discomfort. His speech was less precise than usual, but to Triage this was typical way an ill youngling would speak. His field reached out comfortingly, wrapping out the youngling in order to ease some of the distress. Medics were masters in field manipulation. This was a necessary in order to shield from the painful fields of the severely ill, dying and greatly distressed. A natural part of it was also the ability to calm and comfort with their fields without making it too personal. 

Prowl seemed to relax slightly even as his own field withdrew from the contact. Strange reaction, but it seemed to be typical for this particular youngling.

“Have you had any balancing troubles?”

A nod. “Did you fall?”  
A shake.

“Do you have pain anywhere else, is your plating feeling prickly or like it were burning?”

A shake again.

Triage continued to run through his list of questions, trying to find anything indicating to a more severe infection or to figure if any specific system was under attack. He tested the movements of Prowl’s joints, the shine of his plating, measured the spinning cycles of his spark, and finally leaned back in satisfaction.

“It seems that you are only suffering from your average infection. But since your symptoms have only started, I want you to be careful. Rest and drink plenty of coolant.” He turned to Riverbeat. “I’ll call his progenitor and ask him to pick him up, he’ll have to stay home for several orns.”

Riverbeat nodded as he turned to leave the exam room. But before he left he turned to Prowl, just remembering something.

“Prowl?” Tired optics turned towards him.

“Do you want me to bring you the passcodes for the database we will base our next project’s research on? You could read up some while you rest.”

Prowl’s optics seemed to light up slightly as his sensory wings swung up and then slowly sank down again. Then he gave a nod and small smile. Riverbeat returned it, before he turned and left, sensory wings canting in farewell. He had lesson to continue and didn’t trust the temporary fill-in to teach his class.

xxXXxx

Quickrun nodded as the medic continued listing instructions on how to look after Prowl. Said youngling was in medical recharge on the medical berth in the next room. Quickrun kept the annoyance of being called from work to pick Prowl up out of his field. He’d been in a middle of a briefing and this was inconvenient. But there was no helping it. Prowl was already in recharge and it would be a while before he woke enough to make his own way home. 

Prowl had not needed help for the journey since his first day when Quickrun had taken him to the educational centre. He’d walked, since the distance was not overly long. And when his systems had matured enough to develop a functional t-cog, Prowl could just drive. Prowl had needed to be picked up a few times, because of some illness during those times as well. Then there were those times when he’d been called to school because Prowl had attacked other students. Those had stopped almost entirely after the therapy, although Quickrun though Prowl’s crystal singing hobby had been more useful. Family therapy had been useless and had made them both miserable.

So, Quickrun supposed he should count himself lucky to only be called to pick Prowl up because he was ill gain. He seemed to have weak defense systems. The medics were clearly overly fretful as well.

Triage had given his instructions both orally and in written form, sent over to Quickrun. Now he summed up his instruction in the most important command.

“….and most importantly, do not leave him without supervision. I haven’t found anything indicating there is nothing more severe than an ordinary scrambling virus but it’s too early to say for sure. Observe how this develops for an orn or two. If he starts to feel worse, bring him back.”

Triage rose up, which seemed to somewhat startle the other, but he gathered himself quickly and rose as well. He stepped past Triage and walked to the next room, where Prowl was recharging. Quickrun gathered the youngling in his arms and with a cant of his wings walked briskly out of the medical. 

Absently Triage noted the way Quickrun had lifted and held Prowl, it was strangely awkward and stiff, like Quickrun tried to have minimal contact with his creation. Worry rose in his spark before he dismissed it. He’d keep an eye on Prowl through his upgrading systems and note if there was something off, but Prowl was already treated by psychiatrist so someone must be aware of what the situation was at home.

xxXXxx

Riverbeat drove to the side and transformed, taking in the modest but nice looking housing unit in a quiet area of Praxus. He’d promised to deliver the passwords and those were not allowed to be transmitted over unsecured lines, which youngling comm. lines automatically were assumed to be. As such, he was delivering them personally on a hard-chip. 

He sent a request to enter and frowned when he received no answer. Had Prowl gotten worse over the night? Maybe Quickrun had taken him to Praxus Medical Centre and as such no-one was home. Or maybe he’d just taken Prowl to a family member if he could not stay home from work.

Riverbeat turned to go, planning to return at later date to deliver the chip. But he’d only taken a few steps before doubt started to surface. Quickrun was so aloof, often seemingly cold and cynical. And Prowl had serious behavioral issues requiring actual treatment. What did he know about their relationship, or their home life? How much could he actually trust Quickrun?

Riverbeat shook his helm, he was being foolish.

But still…

He stood, undecided and unsure. What did he think he could do? Break the door? Ridiculous. Maybe he should comm. Quickrun? But if he was just over-reacting? It would be very uncomfortable for them both, not to mention rude. 

He wavered, not finding any concrete reason for his worry but unable to shake it. He shifted his weight back and forth, sensory wings fluttering nervously. Eventually he decided to strain his wings, just enough to check if anyone was home.

Praxians could, with some effort, scan the insides of a housing for spark signatures. It was considered rude and most studiously avoided doing it. Especially since those with advanced sensors could sometimes tell when they were being observed through the walls. There was really no building material that could completely shut out praxian sensors and as such it was cultural upbringing (and laws) that gave Praxians their privacy.

Now Riverbeat chose to ignore those social rules and extended his sensors. At first it seemed that the housing was empty, but then he realized there was a single spark signature present.

He recognized it as Prowl’s.

And there was a fluctuation to it that seemed odd.

Riverbeat felt his spark lurch. This didn’t seem right. He couldn’t leave like this. He opened a communication line to Quickrun.

“Lieutenant Quickrun.” Sensory wings shot up as Riverbeat heard the calm, cool tones.   
“Quickrun, sir. I am Riverbeat, Prowl’s teacher. I am at your housing, is Prowl alone?”

“Yes, he is often ill and used to staying home during those times. I can’t very well stay home every time he’s a bit ill.” The voice was dismissive, unconcerned. Riverbeat entertained the thought that Prowl had felt better this morning, in which case it wouldn’t be such a big thing. He was a youngling, after all, not a sparkling, even if he was still first-decavorn.

But the spark signature had felt somewhat odd…

“Yes, but…” He’d have to say he’d scanned their home. To confess this to an enforcer, and of Quickrun’s rank…but Prowl might be in need of help.

“I – uh…that is to say…I scanned your housing. And I’m so terribly sorry, I know it’s rude but I just felt worried, maybe it was silly, but I felt like I needed to just check-”

He stopped and tried to gather himself, ignoring the ominous silence at the other end.

“-and I think his spark signature is a bit off. I think you should come and check on him.”

“Riverbeat.” 

Riverbeat flinched at the tone. Quickrun’s voice was absolutely dripping with cold anger and contempt. He was rightfully angry, Riverbeat had overstepped.  
“You have preached my privacy and exceeded your right to interfere in my life. I have half the mind to prosecute you for harassment. But it would be waste of time, not to mention petty. But I do warn you, keep common courtesy in mind the next time we interact.” And with that, Quickrun closed the line with abrupt click and squeal of static. 

Riverbeat slumped and vented warm air out of overheated systems. Next procreator-instructor -meeting would be very uncomfortable. 

He was still concerned for Prowl. He felt like something was seriously wrong. 

After some debate, he decided to comm. Triage for further instructions.

“Riverbeat, how can I help you?”

Relief eased the frantic spinning of his spark. Triage was a wise mech and could make sense of the situation.  
“Triage! I’m at Prowl’s home and he’s there but Quickrun is not and I know this because I scanned the house and I know I shouldn’t but I had this feeling and I did and Quickrun was so angry with me when I told him but he still wouldn’t come home but I think he should because Prowl’s spark signature felt odd and I don’t know what to do!”

By the time Riverbeat stopped his frantic flow of words his vents were again humming as they tried to cool down his stressed systems.

There was moment of silence as Triage processed what exactly he’d heard. Then he processed what exactly it meant.

“Riverbeat.” Cold dread filled Riverbeat’s spark at the tone Triage used. He’d heard it once before, when a sparkling had had a critical error in his cortex resulting in critical system failure. They’d almost lost that poor thing then and there.

His whole frame gave a shudder at hearing the tone again, when he’d only heard it since in his nightmares. 

“Yes?” His own tone was deadly serious as well. Fear solidifying into determination to act and do whatever he could for his student.

“I will call a medical evacuation, stay there and if you can try and enter the house. I will keep my comm. link open in case you can.”

Riverbeat sent an acknowledging ping before turning his attention to the door. It had a strong encryption; clearly it was a home to an enforcer. There was no way he could break through. He still circled the house in search of a way in, but it had been build and designed to protect a beloved mate and cherished sparkling.

Returning to the door he pressed himself flat against the surface, trying to get just a little bit more information. What had spooked Triage so badly? What was so terribly wrong with Prowl?

The screaming sirens of the med evac were finally approaching and soon three ambulances screeched to halt in front of the house. They transformed and without wasting a moment walked briskly to the door. It opened instantly to medic’s overrides and soon they were in. Riverbeat followed, thinking a familiar field might be comforting in case Prowl was distressed. They headed towards the spark signature, which surprisingly led them past the bedroom and to wash room behind it. 

When they entered, it was apparent Prowl was in no condition to appreciate familiar field or faceplate.

The small black and white form was curled loosely on the ground, frighteningly unmoving. There was purged energon on the ground and spilled over the plating. His systems gave a horrible high whine and his vents were not venting at all, merely spluttering and making horrible rasping noises as the frame tried to clear the gunk blocking them. His plating was no longer pristine but the paint was flaking off in nasty strips. His field was giving out the desperate prickly burn of a mech fighting for their life. 

It was the most spark-wrenching and horrible sight Riverbeat had ever seen. Scared and unsure, he retreated to stand by the wall and kept quiet, optics wide, field drawn in and sensory wings low.

xxXXxx

The dispatch had sent three medics to a housing where a teacher had detected fluctuating spark signature. Spinlight, Vital and Drip all knew the severity of the situation. Spark signature was unique to the mech, it could be masked and suppressed but not changed. Any oddities, fluctuations or changes where to the very life-force of the mech. Most likely reason was trauma, where the deterioration of their frame caused the spark to first suffer, then weaken and eventually fade. Emotional trauma could leave damage to the spark and sometimes severe stress caused enough strain for it to show on the spark signature. Rarely there were those horrible instances where mechs had caused direct damage to someone’s spark.

And then there were illnesses. They affected the spark the same way as physical trauma, by drawing too much energy from the spark to cope. In this particular case, they knew from the school medic that the patient in question had already been ill the previous day and that Triage had not been able to determine the cause yet. The patient’s progenitor had been instructed to monitor the youngling but currently the youngling was alone in unknown condition.

Their first suspicion was toxic energon syndrome, where the very energon in their lines was going through harmful chemical reactions, becoming toxic to their frames. It was caused by outside agents and was always fatal without treatment. There was no way to know what kind of damage would already have been caused to the youngling if he had TES.

When they arrived to the house they cast their sensors wide and immediately picked out the young spark. There was a definite strain to it, a slight discord in the song-like radiation all spark emitted. Praxian sensory wings were ideal to pick it out and only ones inbuilt to a frame that could detect the pathologic deviations. 

And only sensors in existence that could make even an educated guess as to what the possible cause could be. This particular deviation was unique to illness, and was very likely from TES. The youngling’s life was in very real danger. TES wasn’t something one caught –like a specific infectious agent –but an ongoing infection could develop into TES. And when it did, a normally harmless infectious agent would become fatal one. It could be a virus infecting the programming units and the processor, or it could be something chemical which could contaminate the coolant, plating, wires – or the energon.

There was a fairly tall but slim mech with blues and greens in his plating who greeted them by the entrance. He was visibly worried and agitated. This must be Riverbeat, the teacher who had originally noted the danger. 

They sent their medic codes at the door and it swished open. The youngling was at the back of the house. They filed in with brisk walk, not running, but neither wasting any time.

The youngling, Prowl, was on the washroom floor. Most likely it had been the warmest surface due to the extra heating and had drawn the mechling there when his temperature regulations and later heat sensors failed. The little frame was entirely unmoving, heat radiating off it. The vents were clogged and even if they weren’t, their rhythm had already failed and the vents were useless. 

“Entire cooling system compromised, the temperature level approaching extremely dangerous.” Vital noted as his sensors picked out the frame temperature, his medical scanner already inserted inside the port on the patient’s neck. The results showed the coolant circulation was failing; it was clogged in places and gathered where it was not needed, leaving areas vulnerable to overheating. 

“Energon circulation speeded up and the pressure is high, the engine is straining and his spark spins over the normal rates.” Added Drip. All their comments were not only for each other but for the record as well. The recordings would be written into their reports. This increased patient safety and made later evaluation possible.

Spinlight was already connecting external coolant lines to those of his patients. He opened the plating at the shoulder, uncovering a coolant line. There was a small valve in there for this specific purpose and Spinlight inserted the tubing’s hard, needle-like head through and set fresh coolant in the frame. He moved to a similar port under the pelvic plating near the hip-joint and repeated the procedure, only this time, coolant was rushing out instead of in. Both tubes were connected to a small motor and a bag of coolant. This way fresh, more viscose coolant was entering the frame and the clotting coolant was filtered out. The higher pressure and outside help to circulate it would hopefully reduce the temperature. 

Vital was already connecting an energon drip and Drip was injecting fresh nanities to try and stabilize their patient for transport. They worked as a unit with practiced motions. Despite being three larger frames working on one small one, they managed with ease to work around each other, speaking aloud every time they got more information or did something. When Prowl was as stable as he would be outside the medical Centre, the lifted the youngling and the monitors and equipment he was connected to. Drip was the first one out and transformed immediately. This allowed Spinlight and Vital to place the youngling inside, and secure him before transforming as well and speeding towards the hospital.

xxXXxx

Argon was the medic in charge of the Emergency Room unit, which specialized in newlings, sparklings and younglings. He was the medic waiting at the procedure room for the three arriving medics. He had several assistants and technician flitting around him as they prepared for the arriving emergency. Argon was reading over the patient information from his HUD. A first- decavorn youngling, early development. No other medical visits except for a visit vorns ago concerning his lack of speech and somewhat slowly developing walk. They had detected some variation in his though-trees and processor set-up, but nothing overly unusual. The youngling was simply bit more unique. Other than that, there were the normal visits to school medic to monitor the upgrades and development, a quick look informed Argon Prowl was developing normally, if at faster pace than usual.

A contact to psychiatry, Argon broke through the protection to the files; this was an emergency and any information could be useful. And indeed, the information was both enlightening and deeply troubling; the progenitor was neglecting his creation. Apparently it had seemed like something the psychiatric, Greenpiece, had hoped to solve and both creation and procreator had been attending sessions with professionals with some positive results. But clearly, the neglect was far more severe than had been assumed. Quickrun had been unable to provide necessary treatment and in doing so had grossly endangered his creation’s life. Argon made a mental note to contact social services, this was something that needed investigation and social worker would be the one coordinating the process with him. With neglect this severe, even enforcers might be involved.

He returned his attention to the patient information. The preliminary report from the approaching medics was sent and with a short acknowledging ping he received it and opened the file.

The youngling’s systems were failing, frame regulation controls were not working and several systems reported as damaged. Argon sent a warning to ICU concerning arriving critical patient. This youngling would need constant monitoring for orns. He distributed the report to his team and started combining a list of tests and treatments needed to stabilize the youngling and to pin down the exact reason for the symptoms. 

The doors swished open as Drip and Vital pushed the transport berth in. The youngling looked as bad as the report stated. Immediately his technicians started connecting equipment: Coolant circulator and new coolant, venting support, Argon sent an order for spark support as well when he noted the lurching spins of the spark. 

Definitely TES, and it had been left untreated for too long already. Another order and energon circulator was being connected. Changing the toxic energon would buy them time until they could isolate and treat whatever it was that was causing the instability in energon. Several medical scanners were already connected and the information was streamed straight to his HUD. More information was collected from his sensory wings, long experience giving the information more value even if it wasn’t as precise as the data from medical grade scanners.

A blue light flowed over the frame and three-dimensional reconstruction was added to the information. This one gave more precise information on the inner happenings. Some of the test results started to come back and Argon sent a flurry or orders to correct the several warnings flashing red on the results.

The infectious agent seemed to be riardum, a compound that existed in rust and dirt. It could cause TES if enough got into energon circulation. It was mostly harmless to adult mecha, but mechlings and those with weaker protections and self-repair? They were vulnerable. 

Argon ordered a antidote to be administered. It would circulate and mix with the energon, binding riardum and reducing it to inactive. Energon circulator could remove the bound complexes from the energon.

Hopefully they were in time.

xxXXxx

Vital cleaned the small vents with gentle touch. He wiped off the gunk with polyester padding specially designed for cleaning the delicate vents. Prowl had not yet regained consciousness from the stasis he had fallen into when his frame had started to fail. But after orns of illness-generated stasis he was finally making headway in recovery. They had managed to remove the toxic component finally, and with it gone, the youngling’s systems were making a recovery. His venting system was finally operational and no new gunk was being generated. Prowl had been leaking oil from between his plating, but that had ended as well. Lubricant circulation was returning and his processor was showing signs of finally managing the automatic functions independently. Prowl was recovering, and there was even hope he might progress to recharge stage and eventually wake. 

The poor youngling would be waking to a much different situation than the one he had fallen ill in. 

Careful examination he’d been subjected to due to his severe illness had revealed a lot about the situation Prowl had lived in. And for the looks of it, for a long time too.

The chemical composition of his structure, as well as the size of his frame told very clearly of malnourishment. On the level which should have been noted earlier and treated. His venting system showed old damaged which had not been treated. And now, even as they had basically rebuild his entire venting system, it still would never work as it should. Prowl could never have a racer’s engine, and could never choose a function witch demanded a regular high performance.

But the absolute worst thing was; his processor showed instability that no-one had noticed.

Prowl’s processor was entirely unique in it’s set-up. It was highly efficient and fast, able to handle more information and variables than any other processor the medics had ever seen. His sheer ability to calculate and form equations was astounding. The total amount of variables he could juggle, the amount of connections he could make…when Prowl found a way to put his processor to use, it would be incredible.

Prowl was developing several completely unseen processor units. He had an ability of the level only few mechs ever had.

But his uniqueness also had several drawbacks. Prowl’s processor relied heavily on his ability to sort and comprehend information. Logical thinking was paramount and his emotional center was left with far less processing space. A mechs processor consisted of several units, all working under cortex, or Central Unit Processor. This was the part that made a mech aware, in addition to their spark. Personality matrix was integral part of it and everything else was linked to it. Rest of the processor consisted of units, each with special task given to it. They could roughly be divided to Emotional Centre and Logic Centre. There was also the part which was responsible of all automated functions, those the cortex was aware of and those it wasn’t. 

Newling’s cortex was underdeveloped and most functions were automated. Whatever they saw on the HUD, they didn’t understand. As mech matured, the functions shifted so cortex took them to the level where they showed on HUD and were controllable. Frame status reports became comprehensive and self-diagnostics reliable. Many functions could still operate independently but could be controlled if needed. This included sensor feeds, circulation, mobility, nanite repair etc. In fully adult mechanism, almost everything was controlled consciously. Some functions were so constant they were automatic until a mech wanted to control them, so they were categorized as both automatic and controlled. For example, energon circulation was completely automated and mechs were unaware of it, until they felt the need to adjust the circulation, in which case the unit responsible for it connected to the cortex for efferent and afferent linkages.

But Emotional Centre and Logic Centre were the two main units and the rest worked peripheral to them. But unlike in most mechs, who’s Centre’s were more or less balancing each other, Prowl’s Emotional Centre was not providing a counter balance to his Logic Centre. Instead it was more like one more sub-unit.

This did not mean Prowl did not feel emotions, quite the opposite actually, since the emotions originated from the spark. A mech could be unaware of them, but unless there was direct damage to the spark, a mech could not be completely unfeeling. Some were born with sparks with less emotional output, which was different issue. But those who had damaged connections or imbalanced processors had different consequences. Mech with overly developed Emotional Centre was impulsive and often prone to overreactions. And a mech with underdeveloped Emotional Centre had difficulties in the ability to express emotions and sort through them. They had difficulties recognizing more subtle emotions and understanding their emotional reactions. It also hindered the ability to dispel emotional charge.

And this was where things had gone wrong. Prowl had experienced astounding levels of distress and emotional agony for someone so functional and well controlled in behavior as Prowl. Usually it showed in inability to concentrate or function in schooling environment and in incontrollable raging. It seemed that since Prowl had been alone with his developing emotions and unable to manage them, the emotional discharge had been violent, spreading over his whole processor. Where the processor consisted of several different units working at the same time in different manner, a discharge from one unit could bleed into others and sync them so they worked in tandem and in same phase. 

A processor was not meant to work this way and depending on several factors this could me minor annoyance or fatal if left untreated. A processor perfectly in same phase for orn or two would simply burn the circuits. This would in turn disable the frame and then overwhelm the spark, causing it to first expand and the to implode on itself and cause it to return to the Well. 

Thank Primus this was a rare occurrence. Usually the processor simply crashed before any permanent damage was caused. 

Vital reached a gentle servo behind Prowl’s back and turned the mechling so he was resting on his side. He exchanged his cleaning swipe for a new one and set to clean the rest of the vents.

Prowl had been experiencing processor crashes for who knew how long and no-one had noticed. This could sometimes happen even in normally functioning processors when a sparkling - who had yet the ability to reroute their emotional charges - experienced forcefully strong emotions, but usually it was caught on time before it got his bad. 

Before it became a reoccurring problem.

And due to Prowl’s unique processor, the emotional discharge had been routed all over his processor. Because his logical thinking and highly advanced computing unit (which bore some resemblance to battle computers, only so much more) had much higher capacity to handle data, it had absorbed the emotional discharge right into his Logical Centre. But because those units were not designed to process that kind of data, they had locked up and caused a seizure. 

Seizure’s were a type of processor crash which caused several units to misfire from the stress. This left behind different pains and other symptoms. Judging from damaged tension cables, Prowl’s seizures were burning his flexors. Other common difficulties were inability to wake without outside assistance, lethargy, confusion and disorientation, clumsiness due to motor control issues and tactile sensor misinformation. It could also leave other sensors in too high or too low sensitivity. This was a problem especially when sensory wings were left too sensitive, since it strained the processor and was downright painful.

Prowl most likely had the occasional logic driven crash as well, but they were much more minor in nature and completely different in etiology. They happened when a though-tree was deemed illogical and the information log got jammed. This was not dangerous, but simply a sign of delicately balanced systems. Even those with less highly functioning, delicate Logic Centres could get them if the situation was extreme enough. And if the though-tree was abandoned or the information resorted in a more acceptable manner, then the crash could be averted. It was harmless and generally considered a trait of those with delicate, high-strung processors. Unfortunately, mechs didn’t link it to the actual reason behind the issue –high intelligence and the amazing possibilities the processor had capacity to do –but to unbalanced, fragile mind.

Prowl released a systemful of warm air from his vents and Vital smiled. He gave Prowl’s plating a few long, strong strokes, knowing it would feel comforting even in deep unconsciousness. 

Prowl’s latest brush with deactivation had left much more difficult instability behind than tendency to crash on occasion due to illogical thinking. What had been manageable and rare would now have much lower threshold. In addition, hid tendency to route emotional discharge to Logic Centre would remain, and he would always have a risk of seizure from over-synching processor. It might even out as Prowl matured, and the final transition to adult frame might almost entirely fix it, but for the unforeseen future Prowl would be in danger of processor damaging attacks. As long as those ended in a crash, the syncs were unlikely to result in actual damage, but if nothing else, they would be painful and frightening, leaving Prowl vulnerable.

In addition, right now the instability of Prowl’s processor ran the risk of logic-driven processor crashes with emotional component triggering a full emotional discharge – a seizure. In other words, if something was illogical and Prowl was emotionally stressed, his processor could – instead of simply shutting down forcefully and rebooting – start a processor wide sync and fall into same phase. Something harmless –if ridiculed –could become fatal or damaging without outside intervention.

Vital hoped dearly that Prowl’s upgrade to adult would stabilize his processor somewhat.

In short, what Prowl currently had was categorized as a Glitch.

Glitches were anything processor related which caused difficulties in functioning. Prowl processor instability filled this criteria now, if not before. A glitch was a black mark on anyone’s record. It caused discrimination and derision. Due to its rarity, many mechs treated glitched mecha with contempt and scorn. 

Glitches were very rare as most damage could be either repaired or it would prevent the mech from functioning in the society. Practically any part of the frame except for the spark champer could be replaced, most merely required time and resources. Only the overall state of the mech and the spask’s ability to accept new repairs limited the extend of frame repair. 

But processors were tricky. They could be repaired and parts replaced, but if the damage was extensive enough more extreme measures would be needed. Extensive processor repairing resulted always in a reformat. This meant everything the mech was, his personality, his memories, his identity, all of it would vanish. The Personality matrix was a mix of the spark’s influence and the experiences the mech had and if those experiences were removed, personality changed. The new mech would be very similar to the old one, but never the same. 

This is why, if the glitch was damaging enough, reformat would be performed, but it was always a last resort and difficult to get permission for. 

Mechs who had glitches but remained functional were a rarity and without a doubt, Prowl was one. 

Vital set the cleaning cloth aside and started the maintenance of Prowl’s joints. Many had simply been replaced after the damage done by the TES, but they still needed oiling since they were not completely operational. In addition, Vital intended to test the function and mobility of each joint. He grasped one small servo and methodically started flexing and stretching each join, testing its stability, smoothness and if any creakiness remained. 

Quickrun had been deemed unsuitable as procreator. His rights for Prowl were now null, but it was still unclear what would be done with Prowl. He was well into his first deca-vorn and as such he was a bit too old to be easily adopted. Not to mention, very, very few mecha wanted a glitched adoptee. 

And Greenpiece though Prowl would not do well in homes. Prowl had been appointed a caseworker who was attempting to coordinate between the relevant mechanisms and to come up with a plan but Vital hadn’t heard anything yet.

He hoped they would have something when Prowl woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Child abuse, especially neglect, can be very difficult to notice. Best way is to simply ask about it. A child psychiatric I've talked with said parents usually admit to it if only someone asks.
> 
> Also, children are only removed from the care of their parents immediately if they are in danger. It's absolutely the last resort, which is why Prowl hadn't been removed. They would have gotten to that anyway in the end, but the illness sped things up.
> 
> And what else... The description of Prowl's seizures are based on the mechanics of real tonic-clonic seizures. We don't call them grand mal anymore.


	10. Explanations

Prowl didn’t know when he became aware.

At first there were lazy thoughts, half-conscious and partially coherent. Little by little they gained more clarity and he began to have half-absent thoughts and observations. He realized someone was moving near him, but it must have been Quickrun. Who else would walk near him when he was in recharge? Or maybe he’d fallen asleep in school’s medical office. He had, after all, done that only few orns ago. Or was it just the previous light cycle? But he couldn’t quite work up any worry over it so he let it go.

The berth was soft, his sensory wings picked up many mecha moving nearby. Sounds, conversations, sometimes clangs and many pedesteps. Prowl noted them with lethargic passivity but didn’t rouse. 

He faded in an out. Sometimes he gained enough awareness to realize there were long stretches of time between his absent thoughts, but he didn’t think why.

Sometimes someone moved him. Manipulated his frame or cleaned it. Quickrun? Or Triage? Possible explanations, so he let it be. He wasn’t hungry.

He felt no need to wake.

Sometimes he felt distress or pain. They passed and came back. They weren’t constant but they were there.

Eventually he started to process enough of his sensory feed to realize he wasn’t in any place he’d ever been. He struggled to wakefulness, bringing sensory suit after sensory suit online. His processor finally started to truly parse through the sensory feed and enabled him to start making sense of his situation.

There were a lot of mechanism here. Corridors and rooms, hard paint and bare walls, tables, machines, cables leading from his frame to monitors. 

Unfamiliar berth, mass-produced and uncomfortable but with several soft blankets and several pillows.

A window.

Spark signatures moved beyond the walls, all unfamiliar.

Where was he? He took a closer look on the machines and monitors. 

They were medical machinery. He was in a hospital. He powered up his optics and took in the view he had from his position on his side.

The room had industrial paint; even, generic hue of light green. The blankets and pillows were cheerful yellows, pinks, lilac, red and orange. There were few pictures on the walls, all happy and immature in their themes. Fictional characters and idyllic scenes.

He stared at the monitors, taking in the screens and finer details of the room. He felt so heavy, like his frame was made from and metal alloy several times heavier. Strut deep exhaustion weighted his limbs and he didn’t even contemplate moving. He felt no need to shift or adjust his position, he was warm and relatively comfortable.

He curled his claws slightly where his servos were resting on the blanket. What had happened to him? He had been in school, he’d gotten ill and Quickrun had taken him home…? 

Nothing. 

All data he had was corrupted. Hazy impressions of pain, fear and horrible, horrible feeling of abandonment and vulnerability. He’d been left alone.

He’d been dying.

A tremble traveled through him. Memories of those emotions swam forth and triggered an avalanche of new ones; fear, sadness, loneliness, panic and anxiousness, betrayal and bitter resignation. They swam forth and overwhelmed him.

Distantly he picked up the frantic alarm of the monitoring systems. 

Then his emotional agony took over the units processing sensory data and all feeds corrupted beyond comprehension.

Pain, straining frame, splitting processor pain that cut through his cortex like a lazer beam.

And then something large and cool pushed its way to his processor. It stopped everything, rerouted his emotional data and broke the synchronization he didn’t even notice had been happening between his processing units.

Coolant began to flow and cool his frame and processor. His joints relaxed and sensory feed began to trickle in, disjointed and too amplified but manageable.

His thoughts scrambled to make sense of what had happened, his cortex was trying to produce a self-report, but data was still scrambled.

You had an emotional overcharge and it bled to you Logic Centre. I broke the bleed and rerouted the extra data and charge. I’m currently trying to minimize the consequences of full processor synchro and the resulting seizure.

A strange voice inside his processor? It was the calm coolness that had stopped everything and was now reorganizing his units into function again. But the voice didn’t belong!

Intruder! Out!

Prowl threw up his defenses in a frantic rush. How had the presence gotten past his firewalls…? There were no damage reports from preached defenses… He started to push-

I am a Medic. I have authorization to bypass your defenses. Please, don’t throw me out. I will retreat if you ask, but I’m trying to help you. You will feel much more miserable if I don’t finish what I’m doing.

Prowl stopped, considering. He did have medical bypass integrated in his defenses, like all mechs with a lick of sense did. He was in a medical, he was ill.

He’d been having crashes that left him disorientated and achy.  
He slowly, cautiously, lowered his guard and let the medic continue. He retreated to observe as the medic worked, and then sent a ping requesting the medic’s designation.

Argon, who had been on shift when Prowl had gone into seizure attack, sent his designation as well as his medic identification. He’d been keeping weary optic on the mounting defenses, fairly common reaction if the patient didn’t know a medic was accessing their processors thorough hardline. Prowl’s defenses were something a youngling processor should not be capable of. Even with his medical override and vast experience, Prowl would have been able to eject him from his processor, even if he –probably –couldn’t cause any harm.

As a rule, medics didn’t access a mecling’s processor until they were second-decavorn younglings, but to stop a processor wide unit synchro, a hard line was necessary, at least if one didn’t want to put the mechling in question into deep medical stasis. Prowl had only just woken and Argon wanted to talk with his patient before he fell into recharge again.

He followed Prowl’s though-trees, firmly ordered and coherent despite just waking from long stasis and coming down from synchro. 

Smart little mechlet.

Prowl sent an answering ping, a formal ‘hello’ when establishing a hardline. Little late since Argon was already deep in his processor and…where had he even learned it?

A questioning ping, as he returned the greeting, gave the explanation.  
Via the network. I found a server allowing surface level sync, they use same basic formalities.

Ah, unusual for someone so young being able to register as an user for those. It requires certain maturity from the processor to be possible.

I often do things early for my age.   
No pride, no arrogance. Prowl was merely stating a fact he had observed to be true. Argon received a curious mix of lowered self-esteem and firm belief in his own abilities, the latter taking some of the painful edge of the former.

That you do, mechling. Finishing the last bit of code and installing it, resulting in a few more units returning back to their normal phase and function with the frame functions following, Argon started to retread from Prowl’s consciousness, soothing the frazzled processor as he went.

There you go, I have stabilized your cortex and the others systems are following. Try onlining your sensors now and see how it goes. I removed the interwoven datathreats so you shouldn’t feel quite so disorientated when you wake, but the exhaustion will remain. And your thought-trees will most likely be a bit less coherent than normally. Your processor will need time to recover.

Argon started to disconnect even as he felt sensory suits powering up and starting to process sensory input. Optics flickered on, sensory wings unfurled and the small helm turned to look the mech standing next to him and then moving on to Vital, who stood by Argon’s right sensory wing.

A small wince made it self to Prowl’s face a when he moved his head. Either his neck joints were bothering him or he had a helmache.

Most likely it was both.

Optics wondered briefly before constricting and focusing firmly on the closest face. Argon smiled gently, touching his field to Prowl’s in greeting, only to feel it draw in after the minimal courtesy of returning the greeting. Sensory wing lowering slightly at the gesture, knowing where it most likely resulted from, Argon still kept his smile as he greeted the little youngling.

“Hello, I’m glad to see you awake. I am Argon, and he is Vital. We are the two medics who have been primarily responsible for your care.”

Optics shuttered in a slow blink. Prowl scrunched up his nasal bridge slightly but tried to gather up enough strength and coherency to answer. His vocalizer spit static, mostly due to disuse since any old damage caused by repeated purging had been repaired. 

“krtz-lo” A weak voice answered them, but both Vital and Argon smiled with relief. A few more tries and Prowl got another word out.

“What-?” Another burst of static, but the most important word was understandable. Argon touched his hand reassuringly on Prowl’s shoulder, before returning his servo to rest in his lap. He was seated on a stool by the berth, which put his face closer to Prowl’s and made communications easier.

“You were brought here when your teacher, Riverbeat, discovered variations in your spark signature. He called your school medic, Triage, who called medical evacuation. You were very ill, and they –Drip , Spinlight and Vital here – brought you immediately to the hospital. We have been treating you for four orns, this is the first time you are truly conscious and responding.”

Argon stopped there to wait if Prowl had any additional questions, and for him to take in what had already been said. After a while he continued.

“While we’ve been treating you, we discovered a few things. They told us a lot about what your life has been like this far.”

Prowl looked at them for a long moment, optics so tired and weary. A look no-one this young should be able to give.

“My progenitor doesn’t love me. Hasn’t for a long time. I though you knew.”  
Argon nodded sadly, heavy regret in his field. “Greenpiece knew Quickrun had difficulties showing affection. He knew your progenitor was very depressed and apathetic, but he did not know it was this severe. No-one knew you were neglected so severely. What we discovered… you haven’t been fed, you haven’t been maintained. There were dozens of small signs that showed your frame hasn’t quite been looked after like it should be.”

Prowl frowned, affronted and a bit hurt that he had not been able look after himself quite as well as he had though.

“I though I was doing well…” he trailed off as his optics slid down and to the side. Vital, guessing what the problem was, reassured him gently.

“You have, you’ve been doing extremely well. But some things just need to be taught. Like detailing, it requires some skill and the right tools. And dentae need some basic maintenance too. You were very clean and your frame was functioning well. You did very well.”

Argon nodded. “You’ve been managing admirably. But for things to change, you have to talk about your life to many mecha. I don’t think it would be safe for you to remain in Quickrun’s custody, and your case worker is trying to find another alternative, but we’ve been having some difficulties.” He sighed, the heavy burden of delivering life-altering news settling on his shoulders. He leaned forward touching one wrist gently with his servo. He looked Prowl square in the optics as he explained, knowing Prowl would appreciate simple facts.

“Prowl, as you undoubtedly have been aware, you’ve been experiencing crashes.” Prowl nodded but said nothing, knowing something bigger was coming.

“The crashes were due to processor instability. You processor is amazing in its set-up, but also very delicate due to its abilities. There is an imbalance between your Emotional Centre and Logic Centre. Due to the distress your hardships have naturally caused, you’ve been experiencing emotional overcharges. They happen more often with sparklings and younglings and can be harmless. The problem with you is they were frequent and reoccurring and often bled into your Logical Centre. That is very dangerous and damaging to not only the processor but the frame as well. They spread from your Logic Centre to your cortex and the rest of your processor, causing it to sync and start to work in same phase. This is very harmful if it can’t be stopped.” Here Argon stopped his explanation, letting Prowl digest what he’d heard. He searched the quiet withdrawn field for signs of signs of distress. Prowl was agitated, but it was only natural. More importantly, Prowl wanted to know the rest of the explanation. Looking for signs of the youngling being overwhelmed, Argon continued.

“What you have been experiencing are called Seizure crashes, but they fall under a processor Glitch as well. You have been experiencing minor logic crashes as well, harmless but annoying. They are the one’s you could stop. Now, due to the stress your illness caused, the instability has worsened. If you have logic jam mixed with emotional distress, it will also cause a sync seizure. In other words, you have an increased risk of severe crashes.”

A small whine escaped Prowl’s vocalizer and Argon set to soothingly pet Prowl’s plating. Like many emotionally neglected mechlings, Prowl accepted the comfort from stranger as easily as he did from Quickrun when he had the need for it.

“The situation might sort itself out as you mature, or at the vary least become more stable. What it means to you right now is that you will be fitted with a medical tracker. It will activate if your sync becomes severe enough for you to need outside help for one reason or other. Other than that, there isn’t much to be done. A medic can help you to wake with less symptoms, but there is a strain involved with adult mind connecting to yours and I don’t know if you want a medic in your mind every time you wake.”

Prowl shook his head. He appreciated the help, but it was also very invasive. He would tolerate it if he had to, and maybe let Argon in again, but any medic who happened to be closest to him when he crashed? 

No.

Argon nodded. “This is why we will limit the outside help to those instances you need it. The tracker will activate if you do not crash to stop the sync, or if you don’t wake on your own. This will lead the closets medical help to you.”

Prowl nodded his understanding. He didn’t like knowing he had a tracker in him, but it was better than melting his own processor when a sync refused to quit. A tremor ran through his frame.

He was Glitched.

Vague dreams of serving the Prime and being respected, admired for his skills vanished. With some effort he turned from his side to lie on his belly, hiding his face into the pillows, shuddering again. His dreams, his hopes, all were broken to painful shards pressing to his spark and making him bleed. No-one would loved a Glitched mech. No-one would respect him.

The Glitched were broken, frazzled messes. At best pitied, at worst scorned pariahs. A low moan of pure emotional agony broke through. His emotions welled and ruthlessly he pushed them down. He just came down from a sync. He would not suffer through another!

But his greatest asset, what had made him special, appreciated and even admired by some, what had given him value, what had made him more than painful chains on his progenitors spark- 

…it had, in the end, been what had doomed him.

His spark swelled, sending energy to his processor where it translated to emotions. His Emotional Centre was overwhelmed and Prowl’s consciousness faded as his processor synced, his frame seized and then fell into a spectacular crash.

Argon and Vital, who had been trying to comfort the distressed youngling, let out tired sighs of disappointment. It was always hard when faced with the limit of their power to help. Argon rose and left, returning to work. Vital sat himself to the free chair and settled to wait for Prowl to wake. He’d woken alone often enough, it was time for someone to be there for him.

Vital swore, as long as Prowl remained in their care, he would not wake alone.


	11. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be two chapter, but what the heck. I'll post the whole thing in one go!

An energon cube stood untouched on the side table. It was medical grade energon, but there were several additives mixed in making it much more appetizing than normal. It was meant for sparklings and younglings, who were know to be picky on what they were willing to put down their intakes. 

Prowl didn’t want it. In fact, he hadn’t wanted much of anything in several orns. His medics were deeply concerned; Argon or more usually Vital would sit next to him, trying to coax him to eat, to speak, to react. Same occurred whenever one the several technicians who worked around the clock at the ward would sit with him. They would all try to coax him to ingest even a small amount of energon or to cheer him up. 

Anything to draw him out of the listless depression he’d fallen into.

Even Greenpiece had been there several times. He’d try and talk with him, to offer advise or to just spend time with him. He tried to get him to play games, to watch a vid and when everything else failed, Greenpiece had just sat down, drawn out a datapad and had started reading to him, his gentle voice flowing over his wings, making them relax just a bit. 

Prowl didn’t otherwise react to anyone and didn’t eat. He now had an energon drip again, running from a bag to a port installed in his main energon line. It had at first been removed when he’d regained consciousness after his second crash but had been set again the following orn when it became clear Prowl wouldn’t willingly ingest anything. 

Prowl didn’t much care either way. He didn’t talk with anyone, wouldn’t even look at them. Not even when Vital had outright begged him to just say anything.

He ignored his homework. He didn’t read. He hadn’t even run simple algorithms or played any games or solved puzzles. He hadn’t even counted any numerical sequences, which had always been a self-soothing method to calm himself down. It had often comforted him when there had been no-one to do so.

His enjoyment in everything challenging had vanished. 

He was glitched.

He hadn’t gotten up, hadn’t much moved either. He didn’t wash his plating and didn’t initiate his recharge cycle. 

His recovery had stalled. He remained weak and fell involuntary in recharge several times per orn, for long periods of time. His vitals were not getting better and his processor was deteriorating in its stability.

He was awake again, after recharging through third to fifth cycle. It was the quiet of late seventh cycle, a time between where the dark cycle slowly turned into light cycle and the ward was quiet. The technicians never slept, keeping an optic on monitors and doing quiet tasks to fill their time, but even they seemed to be caught in the quiet lethargy of extremely late or very early. 

Prowl’s frame trembled in minute tremors, but otherwise there was no movement. The overpowering avalanche of emotional agony had come and gone, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating hopelessness. 

What future did he have left? He was defective, unwanted. With no function, nothing to offer and no redeeming qualities. He wasn’t likable. He wasn’t funny, witty or comforting. 

Heavy blackness came and stifled his spark. It left him apathetic, morose and so very tired. He felt like he could just recharge for orns and orns…

A sound from the doorway registered. His sensors were on so low he hadn’t noticed anyone near. Didn’t care. He’d always been much more aware of his surroundings than others his age, because for so long there hadn’t been anyone near and then he’d been afraid of someone would notice him sneaking out and singing to the crystals, so he’d strained and strained his sensors and as a result no-one ever surprised him.

Until now, that is, because currently there was a small sparkling standing at the doorway, just inside the room and only few steps from him.

Prowl turned around to take in the small form, all red and few spots of dark brown. Sleek plating and blocky frame, unlike his. This one had quite a lot of spikes too, jutting out here and there.

The sparkling stared at him with open curiosity and Prowl stared back. The suddenness of the other’s appearance had actually managed to wring fleeting surprise from his spark, enough to have shaken his apathetic depression enough to actually look at the other. Tentative curiosity began to follow astonishment since Prowl had never seen such young sparkling this close.

The little thing clicked at him, his tone seemingly questioning. Prowl hesitated, and not knowing what to do, simply clicked back, adding a soft purring rumble at the end to sound reassuring, not wanting to frighten the little one. The sparkling broke out into a wide smile and his open, happy field expanded to mingle with Prowl’s own. Prowl flinched slightly, it was rude to just mingle your field with other’s without teeking a greeting and giving the other opportunity to retract. Prowl drew back like he always did, but the sparkling simply followed, pushing at his field without a thought for courtesy. 

The field was warm and so simple, expressing naive, easy emotions one or two at the time. They changed clearly, just one emotion rolling into another, seamlessly, without layers to read through and decipher. Prowl could just teek the surface, and it would be just that. No complicated hidden depths. 

It was like watching abstract paintings, a dizzying swirl of colors, blending, overlapping and mixing randomly to create new ones. And then in comparison, seeing something with only two or three colors, clear-cut borders with each color filling its own area.

It felt refreshing.

Like something even he, with his defective social protocols and skills, could understand. This field didn’t have hidden, painful edges to cut into his.

Prowl extended his field, letting it mingle and mix on the surface. It was much more than he had allowed his field to do in a long, long time.   
The sparkling grew more exited and tottered deeper into the room, almost falling against the berth. 

The mechling extended his small servos even as he activated his magnets, obviously trying to climb on to the berth. Prowl had a vague memory of trying to do the same, but falling on his back, hurting his sensory wings in the process. The memory promoted him to lunge at the edge of the berth and grab at the sparkling, helping him climb and preventing him from falling. 

The result was slipping, confusing, mad scramble to get the sparkling safely on the berth. By the end of it Prowl was venting heavily, his frame trembling from the exhaustion such simple action had caused, and a happy sparkling clicking and investigating the new area he’d discovered. There were no toys to play with, and Prowl simply lied on the berth watching, but it didn’t seem to bother the small sparkling. He pushed and pulled at the blankets, flipped the pillows and climbed all over Prowl. Eventually Prowl started to move with the sparkling, poking at him and prodding at him. The sparkling giggled every time and squirmed away from the prods but returned again and again. Slowly it morphed into a game of catch and capture with the sparkling crawling in and out of Prowl’s reach and Prowl lying on his side and trying to draw the sparkling in with his pedes.

Eventually he tired and the sparkling seemed to have had enough as well. Prowl cast his optics out to find something to entertain his companion with, not wanting the other to leave. His gaze snagged on a datapad Greenpiece had red for him. It had been left behind in hopes Prowl’s interest had been sparked but Prowl hadn’t touched it. It contained simple but popular fairytale, a mix of ancient history and imagination. Prowl reached for the pad and the screen flicked on as his field synced to it. Prowl scrolled to the start and settled more comfortably. 

The little sparkling had watched his movement but when Prowl reached for the datapad his optics had brightened. He recognized story time! Chittering excitedly he scrambled closer to Prowl. To his disappointment there were no picture or small vids, but the other was paying attention to him, so he settled down and curled against Prowl to listen.

Prowl’s vents faltered for a moment as he felt small, warm frame curl against his, his field withdrew hesitantly but the sparkling’s field just followed his, and the frame remained unmoving, relaxed and content against him. Prowl reset his vocalizer and continued to read, even going so far as doing different voices to the characters.

Somewhere at the back of his processor he though that he couldn’t be completely redundant.  
He’d just made the smaller mechling’s early light cycle a little bit better.  
xxXXxx

Fiber had been completing his last round for his dark cycle shift. When he opened the last door, he only saw an exhausted originator sleeping in the berth, and the small medical berth next to it was empty.

Nickel was gone.

First he scanned the room itself thoroughly, even going so far as to take a closer visual check, mainly by crawling on the floor on all fours. Then he woke the poor originator and alerted the rest of the staff working the graveyard shift. They fanned out, checking under the couches and peeking in other rooms, sensory wings fanned to pick out a familiar spark signature somewhere it didn’t belong. Apparently Nickel had learned how to open doors so there was no telling where he was. As a small sparkling, he was a bit more difficult to pick up on sensors, the spark output being far weaker than adult’s.

Prowl’s room was the last on Fiber’s side, and he took a quick scan room just in case, not truly expecting to find anything. When he registered the results he was already half-way past the door, before being forced to do a double-take.

There were two spark signatures on the berth. Surprised, Fiber peeked in and his sensory wings dropped in astonishment. 

Prowl was quietly reading a datapad with Nickel curled against his side, deep in recharge. Prowl’s voice was gentle and even, his wing folded just so to slightly flutter and brush against Nickel’s plating.

With a ping the search was called off and Nickels originator, Beryl, walked to stand beside Fiber in the doorway.

“Oh,” Beryl sighed “He got Nickel to sleep again after waking up this early. Can we keep him?” Fiber was beside himself, whispering excitedly at Beryl. 

“Look, oh look at him, Prowl’s reading, he’d interacting! And…and is – he’s letting Nickel mingle his field! Oh, Primus, I don’t think he’s ever done that! Slagging miracle, I need to tell the Argon. And Vital.” Fiber could barely keep his voice low so he wouldn’t disturb the pair. Beryl would not be happy if Nickel woke. His servos fluttered around in his excitement, a wide smile on his face and exited gleam in his previously tired optics.

“Beryl, you can go back to recharge. We’ll keep an eye on both Nickel and Prowl.” Beryl nodded, having learned to trust the staff with his sparkling, and retreated back to their room to get some more recharge after staying up for orns with a miserable, sickly sparkling.

Fiber returned his optics at the to mechlings, taking in the adorable, sparkwarming sight. But more than that, it gave hope that Prowl would work his way out of his shock and not fall into heavy depression like they all had been sure would happen.

xxXXxx

Prowl smiled slightly as he rolled the ball back to the excitedly clicking sparkling. Her designation was Flutter. It suited her very well, since Prowl had never in his function seen such mobile sensory wings. They waved back and forth, fell down and shot up, they flapped and fluttered and never stood still. 

She was one of the patients in the Medical ward. Currently there were eleven of them, all in all, and only one other was a youngling. The rest were all sparklings. The Ward 48 treated those with different infectious illnesses and for those with more severe infections, the treatment periods stretched. Prowl and Flipper were such patients. Some patients came in during the dark cycle and left the next light cycle. Some stayed for orns. The rooms were spacious, since most often at least one procreator slept there in addition the mechling. With newlings, there were also family rooms, so both procreators could stay. The corridor was wide and spacious with a homey looking lounge. There were vidscreens and several different streaming servers available. Several stands stood against the walls, filled with datapads for both sparklings and younglings. There was playroom filled with toys and comfortable couches and floor pillows.

The sparklings were often bored and gladly to played with absolutely anyone willing to give them their time. Prowl still interacted very little with the adults, giving them monosyllabic answers, but he had started to eat more. He sipped his energon, small amounts at a time, but the medics had been able to remove his energon drip and he was keeping himself somewhat fueled.

And he had started playing with the sparklings. Prowl didn’t really know what to do, but apparently going near them and then just mimicking whatever they were doing was a good start. Another good way was to simply look at what they were looking or doing and point at it with a few questioning words or clicks. Then it was all just going with the flow. 

It was so very simple and Prowl managed to interact with the sparklings with less difficulty than younglings his age or older. He didn’t have to guess what the sparklings were thinking or if they were angry at him, or if he had offended them. The sparklings showed their emotions clearly and without reservation.

And they were so free with their touches and fields, and somehow it didn’t bother Prowl like usually.

The ball hit Flutter’s pede and rolled away, Flutter scrambling after it. Prowl rose as well to run after the little femmeling. After some confused scrambling and grabbing for the elusive ball, they resumed their play, only this time throwing the ball. Lucky for them, it wasn’t very heavy. And the halls were spacious. And the hospital technicians lenient. 

Sparkling’s were clumsy and uncoordinated, since they only had rudimentary motor controls. They would code patterns and maneuvers with experience and those would translate into much smoother movements. But right now the game required careful aim and calculations from Prowl to make the throws easy enough for Flutter to catch. Calculating the best arcs for the throw and the right amount of power he needed to put in each throw kept him fairly entertained.

Rainstorm came barreling into the room, finally released after lengthy tests. The poor mechling hated sitting still and didn’t care for the prodding, poking and scanning either. He slammed into Prowl’s back plating and started chattering with such speed his already unclear speech slurred into unintelligible mess. Prowl’s understood enough to know Rainstorm was complaining about his cycle but not much more. Gamely, he nodded his head with affirmative sounds and ‘is that so’s. Flutter demanded another throw and, efficient multitasker that he was, Prowl had Rainstorm situated across him and Flutter, forming and triangle. The game continued, this time with background chatter from Rainstorm.

Flutter’s and Rainstorm’s procreators were close by, but happy to observe their sparklings playing with the quiet, elusive youngling. They could tell everything wasn’t right with Prowl, and could see spending time with the sparklings helped. This was why they gave them space to play. Prowl entertained the sparklings, and in return they gave him their adoration. They would climb to his lap for reading time, snuggle close to him when watching vids and even seek comfort when their illness caused discomfort. And when it was time for them to leave after discharge, they would cling to him and wail.

It had done wonders for Prowl. After Highlight’s deactivation, Prowl had received very little physical affection. In time, he had forgotten it entirely, forgotten how good it felt, how much he needed it, how much it was comforting. The sparklings were used to receiving physical affections and warm touches of fields. When they were comfortable with Prowl, they automatically demanded cuddles. Prowl didn’t know how to initiate, or quite how to respond as first, but he learned and he remembered. 

After a decavorn, he was becoming comfortable with it.

He remembered physical affection again. He remembered how to teek and mix fields.

And with the company of sparklings and their free and easy affections, Prowl found strength to accept and to acknowledge. 

He accepted that his progenitor would rather let him die than seek medical aid for him.

It hurt, to think it. Despair rose at times, almost overwhelming. 

‘What had he done! Why didn’t his progenitor love him! What could he do to fix it!’ These thought would start their repetitions again and again, each time growing louder and angrier until Prowl was driven to the brink of a crash.

His self-worth had taken a fall. But somehow, he accepted this as well. He wasn’t worth his progenitor’s love, but the sparklings here loved him. He wasn’t good enough, but he could live with it. Could live with it as long as there was something for him. A person was defined by many things and as long as Prowl had one secret treasure in his spark, he wasn’t completely redundant. 

And despite being less than he had been, his skills were still there. Even if others wouldn’t see him for his worth because of his glitch, he still knew his own worth. Sparklings liked him, so he had something in him that made him likable.

It was enough. He’d lived his life in isolation before. 

He would build a legacy, so even if he lived in obscurity, as a glitched, unliked and unrespected, he would be remembered.

It was cold comfort, but comfort nevertheless. And every smile he received, from both the sparklings as well as different adults, warmed his spark and reminded him that his world was full of different mechs, and not all hated or despised him.

Maybe, just maybe he would still one orn have mechs who loved him.

xxXXxx

Prowl’s time at the ward had been extended several times longer than intended. When Argon, Vital and Greenpiece saw his mental recovery in the ward environment, they decided to conspire together and keep Prowl at the hospital as long as possible. This was aided by the fact that Prowl still refueled irregularly and too little. Argon refused to discharge Prowl before he was sure Prowl could be relied to fuel himself. He and Greenpiece decided to categorize it as a side effect of his illness and as such purely mechanical issue. They knew it was psychosomatic, and had its roots deep in Prowl’s sparklinghood, but it was a handy excuse not to discharge him. But thanks to their actions, Prowl was recovering slowly. He’d had a few setbacks in his physical recovery, all requiring extended stay. Hopefully they’d at least get Prowl’s self-repair systems on the level where Prowl wouldn’t fall ill quite so often and not quite so severely.

And Prowl was recovering. He gained courage to reach out with his field, which Greenpiece thought he had not done since his originator’s deactivation. He only did this with the sparklings he played with, but it was vastly better than what it had been.

Every orn Prowl talked just a little bit more. He had never been talkative and never would be, but he was communicating. After several planetary cycles, Prowl was reaching the point where he was finally functioning on the level where he could return to outside society. In all honesty, Greenpiece could have moved him to psychiatric ward, but Prowl seemed to recover better where he had sparklings to play with, so they let him stay where he was, with Greenpiece and other therapists visiting Prowl regularly. 

But they couldn’t keep him there indefinitely, and Prowl’s time at the ward was drawing near. His case worker, Fairwind, had worked hard to find a place for Prowl. There wasn’t anyone willing to take a youngling with aggression issues – even if Prowl hadn’t had an episode in vorns now – and a glitch. 

Instead, Fairwind had found a place which offered a placement for mechlings of all ages. Fairwind believed that the small amount of residents and the large age variety would help Prowl to settle in. She had also had long discussions with Prowl and what he wanted. To her surprise, Prowl had proposed emancipation. He wanted to take the standardized final exams for the first level of education called Baccalaureate. After this he could apply to Iaconian university and study statistics, probabilities and military provided strategy, of all things. He stated that he could live in student housing. If necessary he could be assigned a legal guardian or trustee. 

It was true that in university setting, a trustee could be enough, especially since Prowl’s case was rather unique. If Greenpiece gave a recommendation, then Fairwind was agreeable to it. They could try to get Prowl to live in a housing with a supervisor who could act as a surrogate guardian. Most likely, it would be more than enough support for Prowl. It wouldn’t replace an adoptive family, but it simply wasn’t possible. The next best thing would be to give Prowl the independence he wanted and the support he needed. 

In the last decaorn Prowl was planned to spend in the Medical Centre, Fairwind worked with Greenpiece, Riverbeat and the principal Vidol to arrange for Prowl’s exam. After this, he could apply for the scholarship. In a vorn, he might be able to start his secondary schooling.

Prowl would be second decavorn youngling then. 

In the meantime, he could stay either with Quickrun, with Riverbeat keeping an optic on him in school and Fairwind making regular visits in their home.

Fairwind offered a place in Aegis, a safety home for all ages. It was small and had only little over ten residents currently. It was privately owned and situate in a larger house. But Prowl had wanted to return to Quickrun.

Despite the lack of love Quickrun had for him, he was still Prowl’s progenitor, and Prowl loved him.

Such was the nature of unconditional love a creation could have for their progenitor.

xxXXxx

“Prowl.”

Concentration finally broken, Prowl raised his helm to look at who had interrupted his studying. The librarian, Biblio, had evidently been sending him pings for a while now and had finally decided to try something else. After calling his name a few times, Biblio had simply walked over and prodded at Prowl’s shoulder.

For a moment Prowl felt slightly disorientated before he remembered where he was. After deciding to try write the Baccalaureate, he’d started his independent studies full time. No longer did he take part in class, but spent his time in school library studying and practicing. Riverbeat had taken most responsibility for his preparations and provided him with practice task, rehearsals and even old exam questions. 

Prowl was confident in his chances of passing the exams with outstanding grades. With it, he would receive a stipend. It would help, since he doubted Quickrun was going to pay for anything. He was too young to work yet, and at any rate he wanted to accelerate his studies rather than waste his time working.

“Prowl” for the second time Biblio tried to get the younglings attention. He was already familiar with Prowl’s absentminded disorientation when he was interrupted in the middle of some important though thread. When Prowl concentrated, absolutely nothing could disturb him. Biblio knew this and he had taken a habit of prodding him to refuel.

And to finish for the day and go home.

“Prowl, it’s fourth cycle. You need to start heading home.” Biblio gently took the datapads and closed them, stacking them in neat stacks. Prowl opened and closed his empty servos a few times until his processor caught up and Prowl began to help putting away his study material. He rose to his stabilizers and was yet again caught off guard how much smoother it went now that his frame was properly maintained. Not a whisper of a grind could be detected. Thanking Biblio, he gathered the databads and slipped them in his subspace. Biblio, the old mech that he was, offered him a few energon treats. They were hard, slightly acidic and with hefty amount of Zinc and beryllium. Prowl was long used to Biblio’s habit of trying to keep him fed and accepted them with grace born only from habit. He nibbled on one as he stepped put of the library. The dark was falling despite the fact that it was still only fourth cycle. 

Prowl glanced up and saw heavy clouds hanging in the sky. They weren’t rain clouds, but made the city look darker than it was. But then again, it was the rainy season, when Cybertron received it’s mineral rich rain. It was the time when the crystals grew and knew ones formed. Prowl was looking forward to discovering new crystals in his favorite park. 

He’d been making much progress with crystal singing after he’d started attending lessons. He didn’t much understand the more abstract explanations or the speech about “Pouring your very spark into it”. But when his instructor finally sat down to explain the technicalities of crystal singing, they had finally found a language both understood, Prowl started making progress and his instructor stopped tearing his own plating. Prowl still thought the most beautiful algorithms and calculations he ever created were those he crafted for crystal singing. The numbers seemed to flow then.

Walking alone was still tedious, especially since it wouldn’t be long now before he could transform.   
Vehicles flowed past as Prowl stepped on the pedestrian sidewalk next to wider driving lane. Many were returning from work shifts and the streets were busy. Prowl tucked his sensory wings a little and headed home.

Quickrun had been even quieter lately, but also oddly content. His steps seemed lighter and his field almost relaxed. Prowl had cautiously started to teek his progenitor – for the first time in vorns – and it didn’t hurt. Tentatively a hope had started to grow in Prowl’s spark. Maybe Quickrun was finally getting better? Maybe, if Prowl wasn’t home all the time, then maybe life would be a little easier for Quickrun and when Prowl was home, his progenitor would actually look at him. 

Because Quickrun still didn’t see him, didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t talk to him. He even kept his field away from Prowl these orns.

Quickrun had been quiet and agreeable in all talks and meetings with Fairwind, Greenpiece and Riverbeat. Even when he was informed an official investigation would be started –concerning the neglect Prowl had suffered through –Quickrun hadn’t seemed to care. The only thing he had truly reacted to, had been when he was informed Prowl would be removed from his care in a vorn. Then his sensory wings had trembled and he had slumped where he sat. But he had verbally replied with quiet agreement, no hesitation or regret present in his glyphs.

As Prowl reached his home, he –as was his long habit –flared his wings to check if anyone was home. He couldn’t pick out his progenitor’s spark signature so Quickrun must be working still. Not unusual, even if Prowl was coming home late.

He pinged the door to open and stepped inside. He would refuel, and then he would have time to read for a moment longer before having to go to recharge. Maybe tomorrow he could go to the park and relax, practice his crystal singing. He was proud of his progress, he was getting very skilled at it. His instructor had said his abilities were a technical marvel even if they lacked in spark.

Prowl had taken it as a compliment and ignored the criticism. As he walked into the kitchen, he suddenly stopped. His sensory wings were picking up something unusual in Quickrun’s bedroom. It wasn’t movement or someone, but the room wasn’t as he’d left it, either.

Slowly, quietly, Prowl set down his cube of fresh energon. His steps, normally so quiet, were now completely soundless. Like a specter he slid down the hall and towards the room. The door was closed, but Prowl could still pick out a mass of something in the middle, sensory data he didn’t quite recognize flaring alarms in his helm. 

His spark had turned to ice. There was something wrong. Forgotten memories tried to surface, sending tremors along his plating. Determinedly Prowl pushed them back, he needed to know what had triggered his sensors. Needed to know what he was picking up and why it sent such alarm and fear to his processor. He hesitated a moment at the door, fearing what he’d find if he opened it.

With a deep invent he closed his vents and sent a command for the door to open. Optics sharp and sensors working at maximum he stood in the opening doorway.

At first he didn’t understand what he saw, if Quickrun was in the room, why hadn’t he picked out the spark signature?

Then he realized the reason.

He saw the dull colors of his frame.

The limp way Quickrun was lying on the floor, joints loose.

Saw the energon on the floor. On Quickrun.

Realized there was no field, no spark present in the room.

Quickrun had deactivated.

He was lying on his berth, turned towards the side where Highlight had recharged. On the floor was a container of energon diluter, a chemical mixture which would reduce the viscosity of energon to practically nothing, and cause it to leak form the frame.

To leak into the spark. And simply snuff it out.

Quickrun had deactivated himself.

With a moan, Prowl sank to the floor. For a moment longer he stared at the sight in front of him. Then, his spark sent out a flood of emotions, spilling over his processor and without a sound, Prowl fell into crash.

xxXXxx

The light of the first cycle fell on the small housing unit in a quiet neighborhood in Praxus. The house had once belonged to a happily mated couple, more than half-way bonded and expecting their first sparkling. In those times, long ago, it had felt like nothing could hurt their little corner of the world. When the sparkling had emerged, their world had been perfect. 

The sparkling had emerged to a world of love and joy. He’d had the endless love of his procreators and the world had been a wondrous place of opportunities and excitement.

Now, the sparkling –now youngling –was the only one left of the family.

Prowl was alone.

He’d rebooted sometime during the dark cycle, but hadn’t moved since. He laid curled on the floor, unmoving.

It wasn’t until Fairwind –alerted by Riverbeat who had immediately marked Prowl’s absence –that the quiet of the house was disturbed. It was Fairwind who found Prowl, who lifted him in her arms and took him away from the deactivated frame. From the spilled energon and heavy athmosphere left behind by a departed spark.

A Praxian could sense more than a spark signature.

They could sense the absence of it after it had departed. Scientist believed a departing spark left a residue behind, something that could be sensed, but no-one had been able to determine what. But sensitive Praxians who knew deactivation, intimately, knew there was something left behind. A residue. An echo.

Prowl’s sensory suit was powerful, in part because of his natural abilities, in part because of the way he’d relied on it all his sparklinghood. The end result was his ability to sense when a deactivated frame was near.

It was a sensation Prowl had recognized –unconsciously –from the time his field had been interwoven with his originator’s at the moment of Highlight’s deactivation.

Prowl recognized death on a level very few Praxians could. 

It had made it possible for him to sense Quickrun without even knowing what he was picking up.

Prowl remained half-unconscious as Fairwind carried him with her and took him first to a medic, then to Aegis. There a large femme, with very stocky frame and soft field, took him in. She was Marrum, and she was the senior caretaker of the mechlings residing in Aegis. 

She took the small frame in her large, powerful arms and held him tenderly, stroking his plating and whispering soft words. Patiently she waited until the shock finally wore off enough for Prowl to react.

First there was a flicker of optics, then a flick of a sensory wing. Prowl started to move, then to squirm.

“Let me go.” Came a quiet, cold voice. Marrum only hummed in answer, shifting her hold but not releasing him.

“And what will you do if I let you go? It is not good for you to be alone, not now.” Prowl squirmed more, he could feel his emotions swelling. Powerful, all consuming wave of grief and fear, anger and bitterness, guilt and self-disgust and there was no way he could handle this! 

Prowl was not going to glitch in front of this femme. 

He would not.

Prowl felt desperation add itself to the agony of his emotions and he could tell it bled to his field as well. He tried to draw it in, but couldn’t. His turmoil refused to be contained. His engine hiccupped, his optics shone bright.

He needed to get away! Needed to run! There was no way he could stand this, his spark would BREAK! 

But the femme held him, firmly and with care. There was no escape.

Prowl keened his agony, vent loosing rhythm. He twisted once more, gasping and keening. His claws scratched at his helm, then at his chassis, leaving ugly scratches. The femme merely pulled his servos away from where he could reach his plating, letting Prowl claw at her own plating instead in his agony. 

Emotions surged and overwhelmed Prowl. His head pulled back and to the left in one slow, smooth motion. His optics flickered and his jaws clenched tightly. His vents stalled entirely and his internal temperature started to rise. His frame bowed backwards, back struts constricting and his servos pulled up and close to his chassis as his legs twisted. He stayed suspended in this position for few clicks before falling limp. His optics went dark, frame completely strutless in Marrum’s arms. Prowl’s vents kicked in and with a loud rattle began to vent. Joints and cables creaked as the limbs moved back to more natural position, drawn down by gravity only moved by the occasional tremble or jerk left by the seizure.

Marrum had been briefed by Argon on Prowl back when they had debated his placement. Now she blew cool air from her vents, helping the small frame in her arms to cool. Activating her magnets in both servos, she started to stoke the black and white plating, returning the energon flow and relaxing the overtaxed extensors and constrictors. It would help with the achiness. An oil bath after Prowl calmed would help even more and the rest would be up to Prowl’s self-repair. 

The poor thing, she thought, every time he got back on his stabilizers, something would happen and knock him back down. Her spark heavy, she drew the fragile frame closer to her, hoping her field would reach his spark and offer comfort.

With patience born from working with troubled sparklings all her life she settled back and waited for Prowl to wake again.

She sat still for joors, with Prowl safely tucked in her arms. Her engine gave small, absentminded purrs and her warm field wrapped around Prowl, cocooning him in comfort and safety.

It was the field Prowl sensed first as he started to boot up. His processor ached with fierce pain, scattering his thoughts and leaving him confused. He didn’t quite comprehend where he was or what had happened. He tried to move, only to realize he was wrapped in someone’s arms. Warm plating surrounded him, holding him like he was a small sparkling. Something about the way he was held made his spark shudder and a long wailing keen broke through, surprising him.

The arms around him adjusted and brought him little higher so he was level with the strong, calm spark of whoever was holding him. He couldn’t quite manage words, but he managed to push his keen into questioning whine. He turned his head and forced his optics on. A wide face swam into his view, and a blurry memory identified her as Marrum. He carefully matched the designation with her field and spark, even as he stared up at her optics, confusion clear in his field and face.

Marrum ran one thick finger along his cheek as she answered his unspoken question. “You are at Aegis. Your progenitor is gone. You crashed because of it.” Soft words with a terrible content. 

Memories swam to surface and emotions followed. Trembles started, but this time they were from pure emotional distress, not from a processor sync. Tears flooded his optics and his vents started to hitch as his emotions finally managed to find a safe way to erupt. 

Too tired to do anything else, Prowl curled towards the spark near his and keened his pain and sorrow. 

xxXXxx

A youngling and a femme stood side by side at Praxus Transport Station. The femme was large, towering above others. Her frame was rounded and strong, her coloring deep purple. Her wings were small compared to her frame and looked oddly delicate as they flared and weaved, high enough for her to be unconcerned of anyone touching them. 

Next to her stood a small youngling. His plating was primarily white, with whole armor plates painted black with red and golden accents decorating his plating sparsely. His wings were large for his frame and he had strong, long legs. His hips were rounded and waist small, balanced aesthetically by strong shoulders and his large wings. His frame was plain in color but pleasant looking in in shape. His face plating was smooth and narrow, but not expressive. If someone were to draw near him, they would teek a slight whisper of tightly controlled and in-drawn field.

The two mechanisms were waiting for transport vehicle to Iacon to arrive. The femme stood close to the mechling who was –until the moment he stepped on the transport –her ward. He was quiet and reserved, didn’t smile often and laughed even less. The air of fragility that had hovered over him for vorns after the tragedy of his progenitor’s deactivation had faded, but only party. She was still loath to let him go where she could no longer keep an optic on him.

Prowl had matured even faster after losing his progenitor. His emotional fragility had eventually stabilized and so Greenpiece had grudgingly admitted Prowl had the right to choose what would happen next. Prowl had chosen the original plan and had taken his exams. 

To the surprise of absolutely no-one, he had excelled and received a subsidy to help him move to Iacon and a position as a student. Prowl sold his residence, unwilling to ever again step into the house again. The furnishing had been backed and shipped to storage, where Prowl had sorted out what to sell and what he wanted to keep. And what little he decided to keep would fit into the small studio apartment he’d been allowed to rent. Because he had no other residence, the institution responsible for student housing on the University complex had assigned a studio apartment for him instead of the shared flats first year students usually started with. 

Prowl was thankful, since he knew he could not stand to share his living space with a stranger unless he truly had to. And since he had only a short time ago reached his second decavorn as a youngling, he wasn’t comfortable sharing with upgrading adults.

A soft touch to one sensory wing drew Prowl’s attention to the femme next to him. She looked at him with worried optics, her field reaching out to him. Prowl allowed their fields to mingle for a moment –her field was so warm –before withdrawing his.

“You can come back any time, you know that, right?” Marrum reminded him. She had the biggest spark Prowl had ever known, and was welcoming to absolutely everyone. He felt privileged for being in her care, even if it was just a few vorns. Because of her, he had the confidence to leave for Iacon. To continue on his own. No longer would he be dependent on someone else, he could take care of himself.

Because the only one he truly trusted was himself.

And maybe Marrum.

Marrum had been wonderful. Greenpiece had genuinely cared for him. Fairwind had listened to him and worked a solution, which was truly in his best interest. Not what she thought was in his best interest.  
They had all listened to him and allowed him his autonomy when he had demanded it.

Prowl was grateful, and some of the heaviness in his spark had lifted.

And now Marrum was offering him a place to come back to. Somewhere with familiar faces and welcoming fields if he needed it.

Prowl offered he one of his rare, genuine smiles and her wings fluttered with happiness at the sight of it. An announcement of an arriving transport rang over the station and Prowl’s wings perked up as he listened. 

“My transport is arriving, it should be setting down soon.” He cast a glance at Marrum, who canted her wings in acknowledgment and started to head towards the platform. Marrum walked behind him, her frame parting the crowds as they walked. Praxian crowds were very polite in the sense that they were very careful not to brush at each other. No-one wanted their sensory wings jostled. 

Marrum watched the small mechling in front of her. He’d only just gotten his alt form, and he was already leaving for his secondary education. Normally secondary education started at the turn of reaching adulthood. Mechs were still young and inexperienced at that point, but at least they were fully upgraded, with all their systems operational. Prowl still had most of his second decavorn and all of his third-decavorn to go before reaching adulthood. 

He was mature, and if not for his still obviously youngling frame, he could be mistaken for and adult. His control over his field, his quiet mannerism and emotional control all hid his young age. If his frame reached it’s adult proportions soon, many would think him a small adult rather than the youngling he still was.

Marrum didn’t know if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. Because their long life-spans, cybertronians didn’t pay much attention to the ages. First-level education workers kept track of the sparklings’ ages, as did all who worked with younglings, but outside of this mechs estimated the ages with approximations based on their actions and fields. Usually someone was considered young if he acted like it and their fields often had a sense of innocence and inexperience that set them apart. This would also get them some slack when they made mistakes since it was understandable. One learned from their errors. Prowl might not have this advantage if he hid his inexperience behind a façade. And he would be treated differently, be demanded more…

As they reached the platform, Marrum scooped Prowl in her arms, hugging him tightly to her chassis. Prowl squirmed, wings twitching, but accepted the embrace, even returning it.

“I will miss you so, kiddo,” Marrum whispered, her field clinging to Prowl’s. “Please, keep in touch so I’ll know you’re doing okay. You have my comm. address.”

Prowl curled his claws against her plating and pressed his face to hers. He would miss her and her easy affections. But this was why he had to go. He shouldn’t become too dependent on one person’s affections. He wanted to know he could make it on his own.

He never wanted to be dependent on someone like he had been on his procreators.

“I will”, he promised, nuzzling Marrum’s face as he clung to her in uncharacteristically affectionate manner. But Marrum knew how Prowl’s spark loved physical affection, even if he only let it show in rare instances he was in great need of comfort.

Who would hold him in Iacon, she wondered as she reluctantly set him down. Prowl drew his helm back and smiled at her. Marrum smiled back, feeling like she would start crying at any click. It was so bittersweet when one of her little one’s left, and Prowl was leaving too slagging early!

With a final pat to her plating, Prowl turned and left. Marrum watched as boarded the transport, vanishing inside with a final flick of sensory wings.

His farewell to her.

Quietly, she sent a prayer to Primus to watch out for him. Prowl was strong and smart, but he was also so young and had already gone through so much.

But she also knew that if anyone that young could make it, it would be Prowl.


End file.
